Coalesced Matter
by Mirror and Image
Summary: Jedi Master Dooku is in a long-term undercover assignment with slow but steady progress. But he gets a distress call from this Knight Kenobi with a Padawan Skywalker and things just start to go crazy.
1. Chapter 1

**Coalesced Matter**

Mirror and Image

He was alone for the day. Once in a while he made a point of giving his staff a unanimous day off. This served several purposes, showing kindness for their lives, showing he wasn't dependent on them, and above all, giving him privacy.

It was on these days when he was alone that he would sweep his property for any sort of spying devices. Every time he turned up none; he was disappointed as it meant he was still far from his objective. At least if he found such devices he would know he had someone's attention at last.

But this day was like all previous.

No signs, however, didn't mean he wasn't productive.

At that moment, he was in his study. The room was elegant and tasteful, but underlying that, it was a room set up with nothing but pragmatism in mind. No one knew this; they only saw a sense of style that called to mind high stature without being overpowering.

What no one realized was that this was the style of a Jedi.

No extra, no greed, but pragmatism, set forth in elegance. Finery with a purpose.

The Jedi opened a secret compartment of his simple yet handsome desk and pulled out a comm. He checked for messages from the Temple, found none, and sat back. He was only seven months into this assignment. He didn't really expect any word. Still, he took the time to compose and send a report. He suspected he was getting close to someone who could lead him to his objective, the Force whispered of opportunity, but things remained the same.

He was drawing up a draft of a message for Yoda, to see how a particular trial was going (the fourth attempt at prosecuting) when his comm. beeped.

Surprised, he turned and activated it.

"_Help!_" came a staticy cry. No visual, only sound. "_My Padawan and I have crashed on Mugar. We are injured and trapped by the local civil war. Please send help; our coordinates are..._"

The message warbled through the coordinates before completely cutting out.

He frowned severely. He was only two days away at lightspeed and he had barely gotten the message. The Temple would never receive it. Plus, he was the only Jedi in the area. He had made sure of that.

That meant he needed to help them.

He sighed at the inconvenience of it. No doubt he could resend the message, but it might take a week to get to the planet from Coruscant and by then, the Master and Padawan could be worse off.

He would need to find a plausible excuse for his absence. Travel alone would be four days, to say nothing of finding the Jedi on the planet. If their comms gave such a weak signal, there was the chance he'd have to get involved in the war himself to even find them. Then he'd have to start his mission from scratch.

Sighing, he set about organizing things, fabricating a message on his "home" comm. about a family emergency, which was true from a certain point of view, and leaving instructions for his staff. For all that he was questioning things about the Republic and the Jedi, he was _still_ a Jedi. No one else would help, but he could and so he would.

* * *

He stayed in high orbit, claiming the need for repairs to Mugar's pathetic authorities who were more like guerillas than an actual government. They were suspicious and boarded him to search for contraband that he might be smuggling to their enemy, but he suffered through it with grace and dignity. They escorted him to the surface to get supplies and from there it was simplicity itself to suggest they had other duties and back it up with the Force.

Once he was again alone, he activated his comm., hoping the missing Jedi's was still functional.

"Hello missing Jedi. I am here to help."

"_It's about time!_" came the young voice of what had to be the apprentice.

"_Padawan!_" was the Master's retort. "_Hello, I am Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi with my Padawan Anakin Skywalker. We are safe for now, but not much longer._"

For a brief moment, his very soul stilled. Images flashed across his mind before he ruthlessly put it away. "I have your location," he replied, none of his inner turmoil in his voice. "I am on my way."

"_And what's your name?_" the Padawan demanded.

"... Jedi Master Dooku."

Now that Dooku had the coordinates of his Padawan's Padawan, he had no problem appropriating a speeder, clunky and dilapidated as it was, and heading to where young Kenobi and his Padawan were hiding.

Heading there wasn't the problem. No, just _getting_ there was problematic.

When Kenobi had said that they were trapped by the local civil war, it wasn't an exaggeration. If anything, it was an understatement. As Dooku approached and started to scan the area, he saw blaster fire, missiles flying through the air, earth being upended. In what had once been a vast vista of savannah, a small Republic shuttle was indeed crashed and all around it the authorities of the planet and their rivals were... disagreeing over who had possession. It was easy to see that the shuttle had been taken by both sides at various points of the conflict over the past two days, as the attempted drag marks in the tall purple grasses indicated.

From Dooku's vantage point, he had no idea how Kenobi and his Padawan had even survived the battle. There had been mention of injuries, but not what extent. Clearly both were conscious and coherent, but if mobility were a problem, Dooku would need to figure out a different way.

Still, the best option was to wait for nightfall and use the darkness to obscure his movements.

He settled back into his speeder and waited, listening to blaster fire, explosions, and the telltale whistle of ordinances. He double-checked his supplies and the medkit, uncertain what he'd be coming upon. Kenobi had made it clear that one of the sides was tracing their comm., likely due to the patch job they had to do just to get it to work, so Dooku didn't risk contact to check their status.

An hour after true dark, Dooku dropped the hundred meters from his vantage point and pulled up his hood, keeping his supplies hidden in the masking flow of his robes.

When he reached the coordinates, however, he held back a curse with another shell exploding overhead. They weren't there and from the looks of things, their hiding spot, in the crater of an explosion, had been uncovered and they had vacated it quickly. At his feet was a destroyed comm. and dirty bandages.

Frowning severely, Dooku cast out his senses; looking for the brightness of Force-sensitive people and used that to guide him through the mines and blaster fire, ducking from one bush to the next. As he approached, between the concussive cacophony around him, he called out Kenobi's name, hoping to hone in that way.

No answer came, but Dooku still followed the Force and the bright signature of one who was strong with it.

What he came upon was... not what he was expecting.

In the tall purple grass, clearly having flown some distance from one of the many explosions going on around them, a Jedi in torn robes was wrapped around the form of a child. The Padawan was looking around unable to focus, as he repeating something under his breath.

Dooku crept forward and knelt beside the pair, trying to sense the severity of the injuries in the chaos around him, and pulling out medscanners and bacta patches for whatever could be dealt with quickly. It would be a long walk back to his speeder as it was.

The Padawan saw his motion and a weak Force-wave pushed at Dooku.

"It's all right, youngling," he said softly. "I am Dooku."

"Dooku..." the boy replied, eyes still roaming around. "Obi-Wan... Obi-Wan... Answer me... Obi-Wan..."

Dooku carefully placed his hand on the child's head. "You are concussed, youngling. Try and focus on my voice."

"But... Oobi-Wan..."

"I am checking him now."

"Tried to save me... Obi-Wan... Obi-Wan..."

"You're master is unconscious," Dooku said softly, looking over Kenobi. "Broken arm... Both it seems."

"'Cause of me... Obi-Wan..."

"This war is hardly your fault," Dooku replied, using the Force to check for any sort of head injuries. "These idiots around us would find a different reason to fight. They were primed and ready before you even entered the system."

"Obi-Wan... said that too... Obi-Wwan..."

"Then you have a wise master," Dooku replied, feeling around Kenobi's torso for any broken ribs or damaged organs. "Can you understand me, youngling?"

"Obi-Waan," the child almost whined. He looked to Dooku. "Help Obi-Wan."

Dooku nodded. "He can walk, but I need to inject him with a hypospray to wake him up."

"Wake up Obi-Wan..." The Padawan took a moment to process that before agreeing. "Yes... wake up Obi-Waan..."

Dooku nodded. And set up his hypospray. The Padawan focused, at last, and watched Kenobi intently.

The knight started, then groaned and grunted as he tried to get his bearings. "Anakin," he whispered through clenched eyes and he dealt with the pain of his broken arms. "Anakin!" He pulled himself up to his haunches without the use of his arms somehow and looked down to his Padawan. "Anakin..."

"Obi-Wwaan," the youngling replied.

"We must hurry," Dooku interjected. "I will carry the boy. Can you keep up?"

Kenobi was still looking over his Padawan, but he nodded. "Let's get out of here."

With great care Dooku lifted the child into his arms, feeling Kenobi reaching for the Force and wrapping it around his Padawan in an attempt to heal. Dooku didn't comment, thinking that perhaps Kenobi should have seen to himself first, given that moving with two broken arms would be difficult.

Once the child was set in his arms and Kenobi was steady on his feet, Dooku nodded. It was time to leave.

It took the rest of the night to return to Dooku's rundown speeder. Kenobi's injuries were grievous and any kind of movement sent jolts of pain up his broken arms - this without the complication of avoiding exploding ordinance and avoiding scouting parties that were planning the next day's battle. Although, having said that, the young Jedi showed remarkable determination, setting his jaw with the resolve to get out of there, without slowing them down. The Padawan, even with a concussion, kept resolute eyes on his master, murmuring his name and soft phrases of comfort - to whom was debatable. Kenobi would catch the hard stare and, through his pain, smile at the boy.

The two breathed an audible sigh of relief when they made it to the speeder, until they realized it was on a hundred meter cliff. Dooku cast a measured gaze to Kenobi, uncertain if the young Jedi had the strength to make the jump or the mettle to make the climb.

It was surprising, then, when he watched the redhead close his eyes and take a deep breath. Dooku could feel the Force swirling around Kenobi, could feel the mental preparation.

Then he made the leap.

Dooku was hard pressed to follow, even his own tightly controlled exterior demanded a moment to stare before he, too, jumped the hundred meters. The boy, Skywalker, was squirming as he made the leap. "Landed bad," he murmured, and Dooku realized in half a thought the boy was talking about his master. When he crested the jump and landed he saw Kenobi sprawled on the ground, curled into himself as his arms lay useless and at odd angles, breathing erratic.

Skywalker struggled out of Dooku's grip and hopped to the ground, crawling to his master. "Obi-Wan," he murmured. "Obi-Waaaan."

"I'm all right, Anakin," the Jedi hissed.

"No, you're not!"

"Then I'll _be_ all right, Anakin," Obi-Wan said, struggling to control his breathing.

"He will be once we reach my ship," Dooku said, taking charge of the situation. He was disconcerted enough to learn he had arrived to help his grand-Padawan, he didn't need overdramatic emotional drivel to drive him further off balance. It wasn't proper and besides, there was no time for it. "I assume you do not wish to delay that?" he asked, pointedly to the child.

The boy turned unfocused but furious eyes to Dooku, glaring at him in a perfect pout, but his master's labored breathing won out, and he pulled back slightly, letting Dooku help Kenobi up and place him on the speeder.

* * *

There was some trouble in leaving the planet, the ridiculously paranoid "authorities" wanting to search his ship again to search for contraband. With Kenobi and Skywalker on board, Dooku was disinclined to be so diplomatic this time around; given the vicious fight over just their space ship he didn't want to hazard a guess as to how the fighting would break out over his passengers, and so he simply told them he was in a hurry and jumped to lightspeed, dropping out several times and altering his course to lose them, before finally turning back to his "home," the planet of his latest assignment.

Once the cruiser was settled into autopilot, he leaned back in his seat to determine just how this new wrinkle would affect his plans and his assignment.

Kenobi was in no condition for the weeklong trek back to Coruscant. Technically he wasn't fit to travel now, but Dooku had had more than enough of that barbaric planet and refused to subject fellow Jedi to such savagery. They had suffered enough in that respect. However, he could not admit a pair of Jedi into any hospital on his planet; the overall opinion of Jedi was less than remarkable, even hostile. The entire sector was weary of anyone sensitive to the Force, and space only knew how or why Kenobi and his Padawan had ended up there. That left Dooku with far fewer options than he would have preferred.

The maid Dayu at his estate on Zeltrax had some medical knowledge, and Dooku himself knew a trick or two; and the house staff at large he had hand-picked - they knew how to be discreet. This did not mean that they were infallible, however, and Dooku had been betrayed once too often to trust anybody with anything important. He couldn't drag a Jedi and his Padawan onto his estate and not expect some sort of treachery, but any hospital on the planet would soon learn that Kenobi was a Jedi - between healing trances and incredibly fast healing properties, they would be suspicious, and Dooku could not afford the public at large to _be_ suspicious, at least not until he was ready. His house staff, however...

"Where are we going?"

Dooku looked up to see the boy, Skywalker, had appeared in the cockpit and was staring at him balefully.

The Jedi master gave the boy a disapproving gaze, ignoring the question. Concussions healed notoriously quickly with Jedi once they were in a healing trance, and Kenobi had been more than happy to help his Padawan into one. Now healed, he had wisely stayed with his master while Dooku had negotiated his way off planet. It appeared, however, that good sense only lasted for so long.

"How old are you?" he asked.

"Twelve."

Old enough to want to be treated like an adult, young enough that teen insurrection hadn't yet hit its stride. Wonderful.

"How fares your master?"

The boy glared. "He's still in a healing trance," he said. "He's sweating and hot to the touch. How long until we get where we're going and we can treat him properly?"

Dooku frowned. "I see young Kenobi has yet to teach you about attachment," he said, allowing some of the disappointment to show in his voice. Qui-Gon, you old fool, raising an apprentice as incompetent with attachment as Kenobi appeared to be. Did that apprentice, Xanatos, teach him nothing? Had _Dooku_, himself, taught him nothing? He sighed.

"Are you insulting my master?" Skywalker demanded, ire raising the pitch of his voice.

That caused an eyebrow to rise involuntarily, and he leveled a much harder look at the boy. "Be wary of your anger, child, lest it destroy you," he warned, power in his voice. Of all the - the impressive leap Kenobi had performed earlier was waning in his mind, a Jedi could have all the talent in the world with the Force but if he didn't teach it properly to the next generation what was the point? Dooku wanted to wash his hands of the pair all the more quickly before his own sources of irritation began burning again. He had taken this assignment to get _away_ from the Jedi, to give himself time to think and work through the problems he had been having. The last thing he needed was further proof that the Jedi Order was rotting all around him.

The boy had closed his eyes, taking several deep breaths.

"Master Dooku," he said slowly, "I'm worried about the health of my master and wish to know where we are going so I can help. Could you please tell me?"

Dooku smirked. Much better.

"I was currently debating the matter of our final destination myself," he explained. "I am in the middle of a long-term undercover assignment and need to return there with utmost haste. However, the planet is not supportive of Jedi or the Force in general, and so depositing the two of you in a hospital there would be unwise."

The child nodded, frowning as the problem fermented in his mind. "Are there any medical stations near here?" he asked.

"I have not yet had the chance to look," Dooku said, and without further prompting the young Skywalker hopped onto the navigator seat and started working through menus, braid tucked behind his ear.

For the next hour the two looked through the databases, and Dooku became more and more convinced that this would have to be done on his own. He began mentally flicking through possible reasons for the two to return with him, what their cover stories would be. He couldn't just keep them for a week and send them on their way; with the message about family emergency and the overall cover he had created for himself, if he took them to his estate on Zeltrax there would be an expectation for an extended stay. The Jedi, too, couldn't just arrive and pick them up, either, the planet was xenophobic to begin with, and someone arriving out of the blue and leaving with Dooku's... whatever he decided for them for their cover, would raise suspicion. Suspicion he didn't need.

The entire adventure was turning into a headache; he should have just forwarded the message.

... Except that was not the Jedi way, and he would be _damned_ if he acted as anything other than a Jedi. _Someone_ had to hold true to the ideals, even if the Jedi themselves did not.

A deep, long, world-weary sigh escaped him and he once more leaned back in his seat.

He set course for Zeltrax and moved to the back cabins to check on Kenobi. There would need to be a lot of explaining to do.

* * *

In the two days it took for Dooku's private cruiser to make it to the planet Zeltrax, Kenobi had worked hard on healing himself as much as he could. Aside from his arms his injuries were light - well, light enough for healing trances to fix most of the damage, leaving him only slightly stiff. His right arm had only one crack and one break; the crack was significantly better and the break similarly had made progress. His left arm was another story, and so Dooku incorporated that into the cover he was developing.

When they entered orbit, Kenobi and his Padawan sat a perfect attention as Dooku explained what was about to happen.

"I am looking for a man on the planet," he said. "The entire system is quite nearly xenophobic, and terrified of the Force. I have gone undercover; no one knows I am a Jedi. Here I am Count Dooku, of the Devonshire continent. My holdings are modest by most measures on the planet; I have a staff who know nothing of my mission. When I left to rescue you I left them a message that I was handling a 'family emergency.' You two are the emergency."

"I'm not stupid," the boy said. "You don't have to break it down so much."

"Anakin," Kenobi said, shooting a quick glare. He turned back to Dooku. "How will we be related to you?"

"You are my grandchildren," Dooku said, internally smiling at the irony. "There was a speeder crash - obvious, given your injuries, Kenobi, in which your father, my son, was killed. Your mother was lost several years earlier. Currently you have nowhere else to go, and so I will take you in until better arrangements can be made and your recovery is assured."

Young Skywalker was still glaring but Kenobi offered a stout nod. "Is there anything about our mission that we should be aware of?"

"Only that it is my mission and you have **no** place in it," Dooku said. "I don't need the help of a Padawan struggling with undisciplined emotion, or a Knight who clearly hasn't shown his Padawan what to do with such."

"Yes, Master Dooku," Kenobi said quickly, forestalling the impending tantrum from young Skywalker. "I understand."

* * *

When they landed Dooku called for his chauffer, a woman who worked for chauffeuring company whose skills warranted Dooku making the company assign her to him. She was the only member of his staff that didn't live at his estate, but was easily the most talkative.

"Count Dooku!" she said brightly.

"Madame Trip," he greeted.

"You have passengers this time around," she said, eyeing Kenobi and Skywalker. She eyed the bandages and worn clothes. "And hurt, too. What happened?"

"I'll be holding a staff meeting as soon as we return home," Dooku said, swiftly walking past her. "Though I doubt this will affect you directly, I would like you to be there. Boys, let us be going."

"Yes, Grandfather," Kenobi said, walking stiffly after Dooku, Skywalker trailing behind and all three leaving Trip gaping at the title.

It took a full seven minutes for Trip to stop trying to wheedle answer outs of Dooku or Kenobi. Skywalker fared only slightly better, but only in the sense that _he_ was asking questions of _her_, and she was more than happy to oblige. It served as a distraction for the whelp and gave Dooku time to call ahead. Benaag picked up promptly as expected.

"I hope your family emergency has concluded positively," he said, static garbling some of his beautifully cultured words.

"It has not," Dooku said. "We will have two guests for an indeterminate amount of time, and I want a staff meeting when we arrive to explain the circumstances. Dayu will be excused temporarily, because she will have to look after the guests to get them settled. Part of that, rather most of that, will require her medical expertise, if you'd be so kind as to inform her."

Benaag only lifted an eyebrow in curiosity. "As you wish, milord."

"Excellent. We will arrive presently."

"I understand."

They signed off and Dooku turned to his new grandchildren. Skywalker was still firing questions to Trip as she happily gossiped about local politics and families she drove for, giving glowing reviews of Dooku and that he was a joy he was to work for. Skywalker asked how she could work for him and others and not be part of a taxi service, which led to a heated dissertation on the difference between _taxis_ and _chauffeurs_.

Kenobi sat as straight as he could, still stiff and trying to favor both of his arms. His eyes were closed, and Dooku could feel the hum of the Force around him. The boy was trying to... what? Dooku couldn't tell, but it was safe to assume he was trying to heal himself enough to deal with whatever he was expecting to find at the estate. Dooku mentally shrugged; he did not know Kenobi well enough to sift through his moods yet - that would likely come, a little, with the time they were about to spend together.

When they arrived, Dayu and Benaag were both waiting. The maid Dayu took one look at Kenobi, his arms bandaged and in slings, and put a hand on her hip as the other was holding a medkit.

"If I knew this was how you picked them I would have asked for more pay," she said, sour. "Why isn't he in a hospital?"

"You will be briefed completely later," he said, "Suffice to say I did not trust the hospital he came from. For now, show them to their quarters and get them settled."

"Right," Dayu said, blowing at her bangs. "Come on boys, I'll show you to your rooms."

"Rooms?" young Skywalker said. "As in plural?"

"Anakin-"

"I refuse," the boy said, his face pulling into a pout. Dooku was beginning to expect it was a common expression for him. "I'm not leaving Obi-Wan. He's my - he's my brother, and I don't want to be separated from him."

"You'll have to forgive him, Lady Dayu," Kenobi said quickly, wincing slightly. "He's acting out. We're both grieving. He can stay with me, he won't interrupt your ministrations; of that I can assure you."

"... Definitely asking for a pay raise," Dayu muttered, rolling her eyes and spinning around. "Come, I'll lead the way."

That left Dooku with his butler. They were cut from the same cloth, admirers of protocol and nobility and decorum. Benaag said nothing, as he didn't need to, and he led Dooku out of the foyer and into the drawing room, the informal location for house meetings. The chauffeur was already there as were the others.

"We will be having two additions to the house for the time being," Dooku said, "My grandsons: Obi-Wan and Anakin."

"So you do have kids!" the cook said, clasping her hands together. "You never spoke of them, so I was never sure. You'll have to tell me their favorites; I'll prepare them all tomorrow to make them feel welcome! How old are they? What are they like? Why are they here?"

"Tori," Benaag said, holding his head in irritation, "Please."

"What?" the woman said, defensive, "How can I be a good cook if I don't know these things? Hmm?"

The questions had merit, of course, but Dooku had allowed for that when he had been planning his cover for these two. He still hadn't sent a message to the Jedi, and he knew he would be asking for more backstopped information in his next transmission. He raised a hand to forestall further argument, and waited until silence reined.

"To answer your initial question, Madam Tori, I do not know their favorites. In point of fact, I had never met them until now." He watched their reactions, Benaag's raised eyebrow, Tori's flush of shock, Trip's open-mouthed gape, and even Anton's sharp look. He waited, playing the part of a man about to unearth a fact that was uncomfortable to him. He looked away, frowning, looking as though he were trying to control himself, and then turned his back to them before he began speaking. He had a rapt audience.

"I... had a son, once. A long time ago." He spaced his words carefully, drawing out the narration to make it sound difficult for him. "He was a brilliant man, bright and... _inquisitive_. Zeltrax was too small a planet for him, he thought our culture too restrictive and we... had a falling out."

He heard a sob from the cook Tori; she always wore her emotions on her sleeve, and as deplorable as that was the Jedi master understood it was the reason she was such an excellent cook. Benaag was reticent of course, Trip likely having her hands over her mouth to resist asking questions and the gardener Anton would pretend to be indifferent to the whole thing.

"He left the system. I knew he had married, but when I refused to go to his wedding we lost touch. The reason I was forced to leave was because I had learned that he has died."

"Oh!"

Died by the hands of a Sith, his life ripped from him like it was a worthless spark of the Force, and now Qui-Gon's killers were sailing through their fourth trial, proud of their impunity. His heart _burned_, and he fought to put it aside, to stick to the story. Perhaps it was a mistake to mirror the cover so tightly to the truth, but Dooku had feared young Skywalker's abilities for acting, and now there was no turning back. He took a deep breath.

"Their mother, I've learned, was lost several years ago. They have no one else."

He turned, offered a regretful face that wasn't completely fake, and saw Tori take several steps forward before stopping herself, knowing physical affection was frowned upon in this house. Her eyes were moist, but Dooku was spared the tears, thankfully.

"It... was an accident, Obi-Wan says," Dooku continued, working through his narrative after taking a deep breath. "Speeder crash. Anakin was not involved, and they contacted me to inform me of their circumstances. And so..."

"Does this mean, milord, that you have been... off planet?" Benaag asked, a skeptical look on his face.

Dooku met his eyes and did not flinch. "For the sake of my family, yes. Do not get me wrong, I loathe the galaxy and what it has become, I have no intention of involving myself in their corrupt political machinations and I _certainly_ do not plan to leave the planet again. But..." He offered a frown, and a slight glance to the side. "For my family, I thought it worth the risk."

The two stared at each other for a long time, but ultimately the butler nodded his head. "I understand, milord," he said.

And the only hurdle Dooku had for this endeavor was passed. A smile bloomed in his mind but he kept from showing it, instead offering a restrained, grateful, nod.

He turned to Tori. "I would recommend a light menu tomorrow," he advised the cook. "Obi-Wan is still injured, and they have both been through an ordeal. I expect their appetites to be affected." He turned to Benaag. "Cancel my appointments for the next three days. It would appear that the word of the hour is 'adjustment.' I must take the time to get to know my grandchildren, and they must take the time to become acclimated to me. Anton, I suggest a new flower arrangement in my study. Something appropriate for recent events. In time, I'll have to arrange them to be introduced to the public, but I'd like to hold that off for now. Trip, you may go."

"Uh, yes, milord," she stuttered, still struggling to absorb the information.

"I would appreciate your discretion in this matter."

"Yes, yes of course, milord," she said, nodding her head. "Call me when you need me."

"I'll draw up a new schedule and submit it for your approval, milord, you may expect it in the next hour."

"Excellent."

"I'll get a thin soup going in the kitchen. I'll need to ask Dayu about any allergies they have when she's done. Anton, I'll be in the garden so don't try to chase me out."

"Just as long as I don't have to babysit," the gardener said bitterly.

Everyone dispersed, and Dooku allowed himself to take a deep breath before leaving for his study. He would need to draft a letter to the Jedi to explain his new wrinkle and to forward some information on Kenobi and Skywalker. The next three days would be very busy.

* * *

**Authors' Notes**: Well, what to say. This is our latest Star Wars work and, in a way, the culmination of an unintended study of Dooku. Waaay back when we were writing Simple Steps, as we explored Dooku's point of view, we became somewhat fascinated with him and his view on things. He remained noble, even as a Sith, and only ever joined the Sith because he wanted to change the Jedi, even if it meant being evil. It's part of the reason he ended up with a kinder death. When we started to write All But Name, Dooku arrived in the last arc and started to steal the show as we got a chance to _really_ see him as a Jedi who isn't Light but isn't exactly Dark yet. It made such an interesting time in his life. Palpatine whispering in his ear, but decades of duty and belief in the Jedi that he saw stagnating around him.

And then this little nugget entered our brains. Naturally, even though the focus is on Dooku and the entirety of the story will be from his point of view, Obi-Wan and Anakin just _had_ to drop in. They're cute like that. And, in a way, Obi-Wan and Anakin are a foil to point out where Dooku is struggling and where he's still standing firm. And then there are the dreams, but we'll get to those later. Hehehehe.

At any rate, this is going to be a short-ish story, even shorter than All But Name was. Still, it's all about character. That's the point.

As always, let us know what you think.


	2. Chapter 2

**Part Two**

After the staff meeting, Dooku went on to the guest rooms. It would be expected for the cover story they set up and he could feel the Force swirling. The waves were powerful yet lacked any sort of finesse, meaning Kenobi's young Padawan was doing something. Given what he'd seen of young Skywalker thus far, he doubted Kenobi was controlling the child, so Dooku prepared himself on how to interrupt something no one else could see.

He took a quiet breath and knocked quietly before entering. Dayu had young Kenobi' shirtless as she ran a small scanner over him to check for any injuries that weren't obvious, her continual thoroughness making her a valuable member of his staff. She was frowning, but Dooku was certain that had more to do with what Kenobi was doing, rather than any findings.

To Dooku's pleasant surprise, Kenobi was taking his young Padawan through mediation. The swirling Force he had felt was Skywalker's attempts to calm enough to touch the Force more directly.

Deciding against interruption, Dooku walked over to Dayu's side. "How are they?" he asked quietly.

"Little Anakin checks out fine," she replied. "Master Obi-Wan is a little more banged up than he likes to let on. But he's well on the mend."

Dooku waited, watching as young Skywalker let a burst of frustration out and Kenobi's call in words worked around and through it.

"Milord," the maid said, putting down her scanner and turning to him. "They're meditating. Once I got them settled, little Anakin was asking question after question and Master Obi-Wan just stopped him and started this meditation thing." She frowned. "It's not right. The only way to connect to anyone or anything is to _talk_ to them. No one understands a person until there's conversation."

There was a shift in the Force as Anakin finally reached the Force and stilled.

"I apologize if this upsets you, Grandfather," Kenobi answered quietly, his face flushed in embarrassment. "When... when Mother... when she was no longer with us, Father started to get interested in meditation. It was supposed to be a way to connect with her."

Dooku nodded. "I understand that much of this heritage," he gestured around, "might seem strange to you. You will adjust."

"Yes, Grandfather."

The maid gave a soft smile to the three of them. "I'll check in on you in the morning," she said. Turning to Dooku she gave a flat, though respectful look. "He needs his rest, milord. Don't stay too long."

Dooku raised an eyebrow, but nodded.

Dayu left, leaving the three Jedi alone.

Kenobi bowed his head, "I apologize," he said. "You had said this planet, indeed this sector, was xenophobic, but I didn't realize that meditation would be received so poorly. Many cultures have meditation, even if it's only in priesthood or such."

Dooku's lips thinned, but he merely nodded. "Perhaps I did not explain enough of this planet. The spiritualism here on Zeltrax is based on human contact. The belief is that the purest form of communication is through human interaction and conversation. As an example, the primary market of income for this planet is handmade material, usually furniture or decorations. This is because if an item is handcrafted then, there is a much more personal connection to the item, therefore making it more valuable. Methods that use alternate forms that decrease human interaction - such as protocol droids or meditation, are severely frowned upon. Jedi and Force sensitive children, in particular, are not viewed favorably because they have means of connection that are, literally, inhuman."

He paused, letting the information sink in before continuing. "There are many layers in how you present yourself, formality decreasing as you get more familiar and close to one another. Assuming your stations are equivalent."

Kenobi nodded. "Akin to feudal cultures then?"

"To a degree," he replied. "While there are many noble families, there is no true monarchy. I present myself as nobility, so there is a certain, professional distance, if you will, between anyone I meet and I as a result. How I decrease the formality is up to the one I'm speaking with and I. Conversation determines how familiarity affects the difference. Those I speak with more often have a somewhat less-formal method of address, but they will never get personal unless I allow it."

"And you're waiting to grant that to the man you're looking for."

Dooku raised a brow. "Very astute."

Kenobi looked away at the compliment.

The Jedi master held back a sigh and instead, changed topic. "I've taken the next three days 'off' from my usual appointments in order to have a 'get to know you' period. I'll explain more about this world's culture, your 'heritage', as would be expected of me."

The boy nodded. "Will your staff look down on us for being 'offworld'?"

Dooku gave a smooth smile. "No, the sob story of the death of your father and my never having a chance to know you has swayed the both of you to sympathetically ignorant, though my staff will expect you to conform to culture over time."

"Of course," Kenobi agreed.

Dooku looked to young Skywalker, who was still meditating at the foot of Kenobi's bed. "I suspect he'll have the most difficulty in acclimating."

Kenobi nodded. "He doesn't handle culture shock without preparation very well."

Dooku knew it wasn't his place, but he was going to have these children in his care for likely months before the Jedi could arrange for pickup. "What on earth possessed you to take this boy as a Padawan?" he asked. "His lack of training is so blatantly obvious. Did you think you could do better than Yoda?"

The boy looked down and there was a spike of grief in the Force from him, but Kenobi looked to Skywalker and gave a wide smile. "Anakin is... something special."

Curiosity surged forth from discussed child, and Skywalker fell out of his meditation.

"Say, were you just talking about me?" he asked, bright-eyed.

Dooku was about to make a comment about pride or arrogance, but Kenobi spoke first. "Merely of your training and of your marked improvement."

Dooku couldn't quite hide a disbelieving frown.

"Really?" Skywalker asked with a touch of hesitance. "I've caught up?"

"A fair bit since the last time we spoke with Yoda," Kenobi agreed. "But you've still got a long way to go and this stopover won't help."

Skywalker merely smiled. "That won't matter," he said confidently. "I've got you and you were trained by Qui-Gon, the best Jedi ever!"

"Boasting, Anakin," Kenobi said with the long sigh of an often repeated phrase.

"Oh, sorry," the child replied, still smiling. Looking around the rooms, Skywalker's eyes fell immediately on a small cleaning droid that was quietly humming around the room and cleaning the dirt that Kenobi and Skywalker had unintentionally swept into the room.

"Cool! This world has droids! I can still tinker!"

Dooku just knew this child was going to be a headache.

A very strong headache.

* * *

He was up very late drafting the necessary requests and reports for the Jedi Council, but Dooku knew his body well and went to bed with enough time to wake up before dawn and still feel refreshed. The staff understood that mornings were Dooku's "personal" time. When Benaag came to announce breakfast the false count always made certain he was in a chair by the window, watching the sunrise or reading a book or perhaps drafting a letter. That was when he sensed the butler's approach, however. Up until that point Dooku was instead meditating in his own right, pondering his next move or - on very rare occasion - practicing his forms. The 'saber practice did not happen nearly often enough for him on this assignment, but Dooku found as he aged that he was no longer as light-footed as he once was. He could not risk a creak in the floor and making the staff wonder what he was doing, and so his physical workouts were far more traditional, usually a few laps around the gardens or some weight training in the otherwise ignored exercise room.

This morning he was contemplating Kenobi and Qui-Gon. He had lost touch with his Padawan long before the introduction of Obi-Wan, and so he found himself wondering how the two had met and bonded - Qui-Gon had a way of meeting his Padawans in the most unorthodox manner. He did not have a clear read on Kenobi, yet. The youth was clearly well versed in the techniques of the Force - few indeed could summon the will or the ability, injured as he was, to leap up a cliff side after and obviously protracted battle. He was intelligent, certainly astute; all of these things were common in Qui-Gon's choices.

And yet...

Every interaction Kenobi had with his Padawan was against almost every tradition ever conceived of in the Jedi Order. Kenobi openly coddled the boy, bending over backwards and going out of his way to make things easier for little Skywalker, and for the life of him Dooku could not equate such folly to the intelligent and talented man he was seeing. It was like he didn't know how to raise a Padawan, or perhaps more accurately that he didn't know the dangers of attachment. Dooku knew the dangers all too well, and suffered them over and over, and the Jedi master debated with himself - heavily - if he should instruct Kenobi formally during the respite here.

There was also Skywalker to take into consideration. The lack of discipline in the boy was astounding - one would think he had never received instruction from Yoda. The two had hinted that that was perhaps exactly the circumstances, but Dooku had yet to openly ask the question - not and expect a reply. On that score he wasn't certain who would provide the most complete answer, Kenobi or Skywalker.

To compound the lack of discipline was the lack of honest _manners_, no sense of decorum or layers of polite diction. The boy had yet to even say an honest "thank you," and the bitterness and spite that filled the child only touched the surface of the wellspring of anger that permeated the boy. _How_ was he even taken into the Order? Why hadn't the Council even considered discharging him? Dooku could only imagine the disciplinary record the boy had. Even _Qui-Gon_ knew when to back up and let someone else take the lead.

Dooku regretted - not for the first time - responding to the distress call. But, regrets served no purpose, and so the Jedi master put it away and instead transformed himself into the Count, sweeping away his emotional musings and standing. He grabbed the book he was using as a prop and flipped several pages forward, replacing his bookmark and setting it in his chair by the window. The sunrise was glorious, and Dooku took an honest moment to admire it before he went back to playing his part.

He left his quarters to check on his grandsons, passing Benaag on the way and nodding to the butler, who of course replied in kind.

The door was open to the guest rooms, and Dooku could make out the distinct sound of the cook's voice.

"So no allergies that you know of?" Tori pressed.

"None other than what I listed."

"I've never _heard_ of some of these, I'm surprised you even know them."

"The planet I was on before did a very thorough screening," Kenboi said. "For Anakin, too."

"All right. I'll check the molecular structure for some of our more exotic plants, wouldn't want anyone getting sick on my watch. What kind of palettes do you have?"

"Anakin has a sweet tooth, unfortunately," Kenobi said.

"What kid doesn't?"

Dooku heard them both laugh and he satisfied himself with leaning against the wall, listening.

"My palette has grown bland over the years. I like milk-based soups, all sorts of tea, and vegetables that have a crisp texture until they are cooked. Anakin... there was a restaurant down our street that served Huttese cuisine, and he developed an affinity for it."

"Spicy, then, with a lot of meat and proteins and very little greens."

"Yes, unfortunately."

"Well, we don't serve any of that here on Zeltrax, but I do know a few substitutes I can use."

"Milady, if you please, I'd rather he have a healthier diet."

"I'm hardly 'milady,' young master, though I'm honored you'd give me such a lofty title. Here, I'm either just Tori, or 'ma'am.' Same for Ms. Dayu and Mr. Benaag, and everyone calls the gardener 'Old Anton.' Except the master, of course."

"Oh... Sorry..."

"Aw, don't worry about it, the title structure is pretty complex here - even _I_ get it wrong sometimes, and I've lived here my whole life. With your status just about everybody is below you in rank, so you can just call everyone 'sir' or 'ma'am,' so in that respect you have it easy. And don't worry about the Huttese cuisine, Master Dooku has a very strict diet himself, but there are always little ways to tailor any recipe to someone's taste. Today's breakfast is fish and eggs, for example, so for young Anakin I'll be smoking his dishes in the fire-oven and adding peppers to emulate his preferred taste buds. Of which, I better get going; fire-ovens take a while to heat up."

"I understand, mila - er, ma'am. Don't let me keep you."

"See? You're learning already!"

There was a pause, and Dooku almost made his entrance when he heard Tori speak again.

"Young master, my kitchen is always open," she said. "If ever you want to talk, or just hide for a while, I'll always be free."

Dooku entered just as she finished, and nodded to her as she left. The tiny cook smiled warmly at him, mouthing, "I like them," before disappearing to the ground floor.

Kenobi looked up to Dooku. He was seated as his bed, Skywalker seemingly still asleep just behind him, wrapped up in covers except for the blond tuft of hair that peaked out from a fold of blanket. "She is a very caring person," he said slowly.

"The best cooks on this planet are very caring," Dooku replied. "It is their sensitivity to the tastes and moods of others that affect their cooking - a human interaction that is highly valued here. The entire staff and we shall eat together, per custom. The only break in this tradition is for afternoon tea - which is often a moment of private contemplation - or because one or all of us are engaged in some function or gala."

Kenobi nodded slightly, absorbing the information, before nodding again. "I supposed I should wake Anakin, then."

"Yes. I'm surprised he isn't up already."

The Jedi looked away, embarrassed again. "He had a bad night last night," he said simply, before turning in the bed and giving an intense focus to the boy. The blond tuft squirmed in response to the mental probe.

Dooku frowned, wondering what a "bad night" entailed, but said nothing as young Skywalker finally moaned and sat up in bed, rubbing his face and blearily looking around.

"Breakfast shall be in a little less than an hour," Dooku explained, "I expect you both dressed and ready by then." He turned on his heel and left, going back to his room to look over his report to Yoda and, if there was time, to send it.

He preferred sending the messages when the house staff was away - competent though they were Dooku did not completely trust them - but with the arrival of his new "family" he took the risk. The entire staff were now focused on those two, reducing the danger, and he needed as much information on the two as he could get and as quickly as possible.

Breakfast itself was slightly strained. Kenobi had great difficulty eating with his broken arms, and Skywalker was torn between eating his own breakfast and helping his master. The staff was giving less than subtle looks at the two (with the exception of Benaag, of course), and one could see and sense the questions ready to burst from their lips if the opportunity ever struck them. Decorum and tradition kept them quiet, however; one did not ask after information that was not volunteered, and Dooku was not about to offer up anything until he was certain both of them could handle the scrutiny. Kenobi was iffy, but _Skywalker_...

And, right on cue, the child opened his mouth.

"Hey, how come it's so quiet?" he asked. "I thought mealtime was a sacred tradition of talking or something."

Benaag made a noise of disapproval, and Dooku closed his eyes at the approaching horror.

Tori spoke up first, feeling perhaps more comfortable after talking to Kenobi earlier that morning. "Formality," she answered. "We can't ask a question of our superiors unless they allow it, young master."

The child's eyes narrowed. "Superiors? Young Master?"

"Yes," the cook said. "Zeltrax has a social hierarchy based on title, rank, occupation, and income. You are grandsons of a count, putting you very high up in the hierarchy. We are service staff, mid ranked, roughly."

"Are there any slaves here?" Skywalker demanded, his face intent.

"_Anakin!"_ Kenobi hissed, throwing a meaningful glare at the whelp.

"What?" the boy hissed right back. "It's just a question. If we're gonna live here I gotta know this kind of stuff."

"You think we're some kind of Hutt subspecies, boy?" the gardener Anton growled, his sour disposition showing. "You've got our blood, boy, and that makes you just like us."

"That's not what I asked," Skywalker exclaimed, outraged at the comparison to a Hutt.

"It is," Anton badgered. "Did your runaway pa give you such a low opinion of his home planet? Of your heritage?"

"That isn't what I'm _talking_ about!"

"Anakin, stop talking right now," Kenobi whispered in a low voice - and to Dooku's surprise the boy did exactly that. Young Skywalker didn't even try to dig in his heels and continue making a scene, nor did he look the least bit surly at the command, he simply glared at his master for a moment before looking down at his plate.

Kenobi looked to the staff, his jaw tight. "You must forgive my brother," he said after a false start. "Slavery is a sore subject with him."

Tori frowned. "Why?"

Kenobi looked away. "You'll have to forgive me," he said slowly, "but that is a topic best kept private."

The entire staff nodded. "Of course, young master," Tori said. "We hope you'll come to trust us in time."

It was brilliant, in some ways. Kenobi had not only subverted the explosion known as his Padawan, but he also had invoked the traditions of Zeltrax to deflect further questioning - and done it with a humility and bearing that had earned the understanding of the staff. By setting a boundary of "private" Kenobi had dispensed of the one of the boundaries of "foreigner," and the gesture was an immense relief to the members of Dooku's employ. The count allowed himself to smile slightly, as he drank his tea. Kenobi was proving to be an interesting puzzle, and Dooku decided he was curious enough to try and solve it.

* * *

Dooku was in his office again after lunch, under the excuse that he had a backlog of things to do since his family emergency. Kenobi had returned to his room and Dooku could already feel the gentle waves of a healing trance. Hopefully Kenobi would use those sparingly, as a miraculous recovery would be suspicious. After his brilliant performance at breakfast it was a stupid move, but then, Kenobi seemed full of contradictions.

So the fake count ignored it for the moment, focusing on the work at hand. His excuse of backlog was true, after all. It just didn't take much time with the Force guiding him. His letters of polite decline for the functions he would miss and apologies for what he had missed were all drafted and written but in his neat script, part of the personal touch the people of this world favored. Granted, there were technological means of communication, viewscreens and holograms were adored for being able to see whom you spoke with, but Dooku's age put him among those who would prefer handwritten messages. While it took longer than a hologram, after months on planet, Dooku found something soothing about sitting down and penning a letter by hand.

He was in the middle of a tentative acceptance letter for a function later that week when his home comm. chirped. This was unusual, as if anyone needed to contact him, it would come through Benaag. That left his staff, and they knew better than to interrupt him when he was working.

"Yes?" he answered, opening the audio.

"_Milord_," came the old voice of Anton, "_would you come and collect your grandson?_"

Skywalker.

With a silent sigh, he agreed.

Dooku had thought Kenobi had taken the child with him, but on reflection, if Kenobi was healing, that would leave Skywalker idle. Younglings never did well on idle. They found methods to entertain themselves, often with disastrous results.

He debated briefly on pulling Kenobi from his trance and making _him_ deal with the child but decided against it. It could do more harm to pull a Jedi from a healing trance, so Dooku headed out the back of his manor and started walking at a brisk pace.

His grounds were hardly extensive. After all, he was in easy distance of the city, but he did have a small orchard that Tori the cook made excellent wines with, to say nothing of her pies. There was also a vegetable garden and a large lawn for any functions or gatherings Dooku would hold.

Anton maintained all these with a careful eye on color and fragrance, as well as the front gardens with its impressive displays of flowers and planters. But where Anton spent most of his time was in a secluded grove of trees by the orchard. When Dooku had arrived, it had simply been trees and brush. It marked a boundary of his estate and was left wild. Once Dooku had seen it and hired Anton, he'd made plans for it. After all, he'd likely be undercover for well over a year. It would be a place for meditation. There would be fountains and stonework to go with the natural trees and brush and it would be a wellspring of the Living Force in its natural disorder that both he and Qui-Gon had believed in.

It would be a monument to Qui-Gon. Not a commissioned statue, as the Jedi had done, not a note in the Archives, but something far more suited to his most successful Padawan. It would not last. Whatever owners of the land came after him would eventually make their own gardens to their own tastes, and it was in the fact that this little grove wasn't permanent that Qui-Gon would have adored it.

To have Skywalker butting in was beyond inappropriate and disrespectful.

It was a fifteen minute walk at a good pace to reach the grove, Dooku having opted not out of any sort of transportation in order to have time on how to plan for how to deal with the errant apprentice of his Padawan's Padawan.

When he arrived, Dooku was appalled to find two droids causing most of the chaos in the grove. One was a standard droid designed for mowing lawns, something that didn't require the personal touch of the gardener for the type of handcrafting that was so acclaimed on this world. The other, Dooku couldn't even recognize the design for, unsurprising given the sheer variety of droids in the galaxy.

The droids were currently battling each other.

The signs were in the very ground and trees. Much like the shuttle that had crashed on the savannah Dooku had found his fellow Jedi, the ground bore deep gouges, upturned and scattered. Boulders meant for design and flow and beauty were chipped and marred, and the ancient trees that had marked this border of the manor now bore scorch marks and scars that would never heal.

And between the two droids intent on dismantling each other was young Skywalker, a datapad in one hand and a long rake in the other to fend off the droids. Behind him, several meters away and going red in the face with anger was his gardener Anton, only the respect that Skywalker held a higher rank holding his tongue from a tirade that would likely scar the eardrums of the troublesome youngling.

Dooku took a moment to just stare before his brows descended and he strode forward with disappointment and irritation leaking off of him in waves. He picked up an abandoned (and battered, likely from fighting off the droids) shovel and stepped forward with all the grace and precision of Makashi, using the blade of the shovel like it was the blade of a lightsaber. With the mowing droid a precise _shiak_ stab with all the natural fluidity and elegance of the Way of the Ysalamiri he'd learned decades ago that sent the droid skittering back with a substantial dent breaking all the innards with the massive force Dooku applied, even without the aid of the true Force. For the unidentified droid, a sweeping _sun djem_ with economic movement disarmed the mechanical limbs by removing them from the very droid before a another _shiak_ sent the machine flying away.

The Jedi master stood still, his moves taking only two precise and powerful steps. With both droids gone, Skywalker was looking up to him wide-eyed and with his jaw somewhere down on the ground. Anton as well had a look of shock, though he recovered quickly.

Now that safety was re-established, Anton was stepping forward, a stream of politely-worded complaints ready to spew forth when Dooku turned and glared at Skywalker, his disappointment and displeasure radiating even further.

Skywalker had the grace to at least look ashamed. "Wow," he muttered. "I thought only _Obi-Wan_ could do that."

Whether he meant Dooku's sword work or his saturation of the Force with his irritation was irrelevant.

"And _what_, pray tell, are you _doing_?" the Jedi master demanded.

"Trying to help!" was Skywalker's extremely defensive response.

_How_, just _how_ did Kenobi deal with this youngling?

"Really?" he asked, sarcasm flowing from that one word like a waterfall.

Skywalker's spine stiffened and he offered a pout that would become a terrible scowl once he was fully grown. "Well of _course_! Those droids were basic beyond basic! They don't - _didn't_ have enough programming to fulfill their designed functions!"

Dooku drew a breath. "And did you _ask_ anyone before you started your... tinkering?"

There was no denying the tone behind "tinkering" showed how highly he _didn't_ think of it.

Skywalker looked down, his posture showing that this wasn't the first time he'd gone behind someone's back to do that. That just raised Dooku's irritation. Was Kenobi blind or merely turning a blind eye?

"I see." Dooku took a moment to close his eyes and reach for the Force. This youngling... He suddenly had several flashback's to Qui-Gon's pathetic lifeforms, all manner of plants and pets that tramped their way through their quarters over the course of Qui-Gon's apprenticeship. While Dooku didn't mind his old Padawan's attention to the Living Force, he _had_ cared for the mess often left behind. This youngling was a terrible combination of all of Qui-Gon's bad points and Dooku had yet to see any redeeming qualities.

After (another) deep breath he crossed his arms, still looking down to young Skywalker. "On this planet," he said as if he were recording a holocron on lightsaber techniques, "we prefer handcraftsmanship. I keep Anton on staff because he has a finer eye for beauty than any _droid_ could. Every item that is hand crafted bears a little of the soul that made it. As such, droids are relegated to the mindless work they are best for. We can't have them doing their full functions simply because it would be counterproductive to the time and effort people put into what they make. Droids are best for drudgery."

Skywalker clearly didn't care for Dooku's culture lesson. "But I _build_ droids! Doesn't that fall into the whole hand-crafting thing you've been talking about?"

Dooku took a breath to respond, but Skywalker was already digging in his heels.

"I once build a podracer all on my own! I -" Skywalker stumbled in his wording before starting again. "That racer _won_ the Boonta Eve classic. Are you saying I _can't_ take pride in what I can build? By _hand_?"

The Jedi master had a rebuttal forming on his lips when Anton, politely, stepped forward. "Podrace?"

Skywalker immediately turned, with a bright and prideful smile on his face. "Uh-huh!"

Dooku groaned. Anton, in private, had a great fascination with Podraces. Any difficulty the two had after this first confrontation had essentially been wiped away.

That did not, however, erase the issue.

"But you did not _ask_ anyone. You are a youngling and need to listen to people who have more experience and wisdom than you."

Skywalker's heels dug in further. "But that dismisses all _my_ experiences and wisdom!"

The _gall_! _How_ did Kenobi deal with this? _Why_ did he chose to deal with this?

"And how, precisely, does a mere dozen years trump decades?" Dooku asked with contempt.

The child's face reddened and was about to argue right back when the Force swirled with a proverbial swat.

Skywalker instantly backed down. He bowed his head in stiff formality and said, "I still have much to learn... Grandfather," before he stomped away, no doubt heading straight for Kenobi who was clearly up.

Dooku couldn't quite help raising an eyebrow. Skywalker, who showed no finesse, no ability, indeed seemed well behind any training that Yoda would have provided before an apprenticeship, was strong enough and able enough to feel the mental swat that Kenobi had thrown from _across the property_.

How very interesting.

* * *

A grey room.

The walls were uniform, the same slate grey, as was the table he was sitting at. There were no shadows, no light source, everything was _exactly_ the same color and yet Dooku somehow knew there were four walls and a ceiling, even as he knew he was sitting at a table. The grey was mundane, mediocre, the exact median between white and black.

Between Light and... Dark.

Dooku stiffened.

"I see you've met my Padawans."

And suddenly Dooku was turning sharply to look across the table and find... find...

Find thick brown hair, half pulled back; a scraggly mustache and beard; piercing eyes that were smiling as they always did, and the brown cloak of a Jedi. Qui-Gon Jinn was sitting opposite him.

Dooku blinked, rubbed his eyes, and blinked again. Thought, rational thought, all but left him, and suddenly he was fighting every inch of his body to keep from exploding like a Federation hauler. Electric shocks started filling his head, between his ears, as fight-or-flight energy started trickling down to his body. He clenched his fists, sat rigidly straight - almost painfully - to keep himself from springing up from his chair and... and... he wasn't sure _what_ he was going to do, only that he had to control it because there was no way he was sitting across from _Qui-Gon Jinn_!

His old Padawan leaned back in his chair and smiled. "I see we have a long way to go," he said brightly. "This might take a while, and Force help me if it does; we both know my attention span isn't the best when it comes to long projects."

Something snapped in Dooku's head, listening to that light, melodically accented voice, and his voice betrayed him.

"You're dead."

Qui-Gon nodded. "Yes, I am."

"You can't be here."

"From a certain point of view, I can't."

"Then what-"

Qui-Gon leaned forward, placing his elbows on the median grey table, hunching forward for an explanation. "From a certain point of view, you're right, I can't be here. But, and you'll have to forgive me my old master, I've shed that point of view several years ago, and since my death there are many points of view I no longer have."

Dooku shook his head, still in denial, still fighting for control. His emotions were overtaking him, and that was utterly unacceptable, and he fought against them viciously as he stared at the face of the only Padawan he ever had that didn't betray him. This wasn't possible. This wasn't _possible_, and yet _there he was!_ Qui-Gon! Alive! Here! There were so many questions, so many things he wanted to tell his old Padawan, so many things he never said when the man was alive... But it was too good to be true. Becoming one with the Force made it impossible, this simply _couldn't be happening_, and so it was a trick - of the mind or some other influence had yet to be determined, and Dooku would be damned before he fell for a trick as painful as this one.

His entire body was shaking.

And suddenly there was a hand on his, warm and light, and he looked down to see Qui-Gon was holding it, squeezing it gently, and that smile was still on his face.

"I suppose," he said, "before we can get anywhere, you have to decide what point of view you're going to use for this. I could be a Force ghost, but it looks like you really don't want to lend yourself to any hint that this all might be real. I don't particularly care how you wish to see me, but I'd be very disappointed if you thought this was an external influence meant to torture you." He smiled, softly, gently. "As I recall I more than tortured you during my apprenticeship, and I doubt _anyone_ could recreate _that_ experience. Not for lack of trying, of course, on the parts of Obi-Wan and Anakin." The smile morphed into something with pride, and Dooku shook his head again, still uncomprehending.

Qui-Gon frowned for a moment, before withdrawing his hand (and Dooku's body quailed at the loss of contact, a shudder threatening to run through his spine) and leaning back in his grey chair.

"All right," he said seriously. "Let's call a hyperdrive a hyperdrive, shall we? This," he said, gesturing to the grey room, "is all a dream. When you wake up and remember this, you can decide then what to make of it. I'm running out of time, I'm not strong enough to do this for long periods of time. I'd rather hoped we could spend our first meeting in, well, a long time just reminiscing and talking about my two Padawans, but unless you can finally let go of that terrible self-control you have we're not going to get anywhere. So make up your damn mind."

"This... this is a dream?" Dooku asked, appalled that his voice sounded like a squeak but unable to let it affect him as it should.

"Yes, one of many you'll be having I expect. Your stubbornness is well-known, but then, you have passed it on to me, so we'll see."

"Why are you here?" At last, a rational question. Dooku internally smiled at himself, and slowly his self-control began to reassert itself.

Qui-Gon gave a mischievous smile. "Now, where would the fun be if I just told you the answer? Let's just say, 'It is the will of the Force,' and leave it at that for now. I doubt I could explain it more succinctly than that."

"Then... what do you want?"

"To talk to my old master," Qui-Gon said expansively. "I was surprised when you came across my two Padawans, and I wanted to take the time to catch up with you while the three of you are together. Tell me, what do you think of them?"

Dooku mulled over that question for a while as they sat in the grey room. He had only known Kenobi for at best a week - most of that time spent with the young man in a healing trance of some kind. And Skywalker, he was Qui-Gon's Padawan? How? He expressed his much to his former Padawan, still feeling surreal, but at least now he was capable of rational thought. "Kenobi has been in a healing trance most of the time, and Skywalker... How can both of them be your Padawans? Kenobi is barely old enough to be a knight."

Qui-Gon, in response to his decidedly neutral answer, nodded, a knowing look on his face. "That's typical of both of them. Obi-Wan literally worried himself sick when we first met; gave himself a fever on his way to AgriCorps. He has a decidedly small sense of self-worth, and most of that is my fault - especially at the end. And Anakin, in the most technical sense he is not my Padawan, but much like any Jedi who finds a child gifted with the Force, I feel a little attached to him. He has a very bad habit of redefining impossible, but he hasn't fully grown into that yet. For now we'll just say he's a child of extremes."

"... Why are you telling me this?"

And Qui-Gon smiled. "Because they're precious to me, the same way you are. I wanted to share."

"But... why?"

"Because I'm trying to help you."

And suddenly Dooku opened his eyes and looked not at the solid grey of that room but the pre-dawn blues of a vaulted ceiling, his room on Zeltrax. He blinked, realized belatedly that he was breathing hard, and sank into his bed. A dream, it was only a dream...

* * *

**Author's Notes**: Gyaaah, what to say... In case you haven't noticed, this will only be from Dooku's POV, and, as you can see, his views of Obi and Ani are a little skewed. He doesn't know their respective backstories and so he's looking in a purely objective Jedi manner. Remember, Ani had enough fear and anger in him to be rejected from the Jedi, despite his potential, and that's all Dooku can see right now. Similarly, Obi and his "period of self-doubt" are in full force, so he's presenting a puzzle box of pure competence but no confidence.

This chapter feels a touch flat because there was a lot of establishing of the culture of Zeltrax here. The culture needs addressing as it's a new place and it does affect plot to a degree. At the same time, we avoided doing the usual trope of just flat out explaining for three or four paragraphs what the history of the planet was and that's why it is the way it is.

For the sharp-eyed reader, we're being distinctly playful with all the names for this planet. They're coming from something specific and we can't help but wonder if anyone will notice where (or rather, what series) we're pulling the names from. Hehehe.

And, of course, the dream of Qui-Gon. Dooku's going to have a couple of those, and there's a degree of symbolism in there. But we'll leave that be and let you figure it out. ^_^

Our beta-reader, the lovely Angel-san is now done with this story, so we can start posting weekly again. Now she has the lovely task of beta-ing AC2, which she's been waiting patiently for. Too bad our writing isn't done yet.

See you next week!


	3. Chapter 3

**Part Three**

Despite the deplorable amount of time it took to shake that dream, Dooku was back to himself and his regular routine. Or rather, back to his new "regular" routine, which included maneuvering around his grand-Padawans.

For the moment, little Skywalker was out with Benaag to see a tailor. The clothes they had brought with them were hardly suitable for Zeltrax and it was unlikely the Jedi Council would interrupt his undercover mission and risk exposure to pick them up. Instead, Kenobi and Skywalker would be reassigned to him until such time that Dooku could find an excuse to send them back to the Temple or he was outed, or some other catastrophe.

Thankfully, with Skywalker out of the house, it provided some peace and quiet to get things done. Droids were no longer going berserk due to tampering, which was a definite boon.

At the moment, however, Dooku stood at the railing, looking down over the grand staircase of his manor. At the base of the dark-wooded steps was Kenobi and Dayu, the maid-turned-medic. Dayu's attention to detail and knowledge of bacta had already been instrumental in ensuring that Kenobi now had one of his arms back and the young Jedi was already doing exercises every day to build back up his muscle strength. Dooku approved of the dedication.

Sitting at the base, Dayu was trying to get Kenobi to leave her be, claiming the work she had to do with repairing the carpet runner of the stairs.

"I'm afraid I fail to see any problems. This runner, like everything else in the manor, is immaculate."

Dayu gave a warm smile, before tutting. "Young master, you need to look closer. The ends are starting to fray and stitches have been caught and pulled when young Master Anakin comes running down these stairs. Milord Dooku will need to hold some sort of function to introduce the two of you and everything needs to be perfect."

Kenobi frowned. "Introduce us? We've only just arrived and are hardly of any importance in any business our grandfather conducts."

Dooku raised his eyes towards the chandelier and begged the Force for some level of patience with _either_ of his grand-Padawans. Skywalker might be a holy terror, but Kenobi's apparent lack of self-worth was just _irritating_.

The maid seemed to agree, leveling a disbelieving glare. "You're his _family_. Of _course_ you're important! You're his heirs! You'll need to build connections as you start learning the family affairs and the best way is through more casual settings like a welcoming party or attending some gala."

Kenobi paled, but showed no other signs of reaction. "Ma'am, I fear that my little brother may not be... of the best temperament for such gatherings."

That would be putting it mildly; Dooku smirked.

"Is any youngling at that age?" Dayu countered. "Now really, young Master, you should be resting. That other arm won't heal itself."

The boy looked down with a grin. "My apologies, ma'am, but for all that I have been pouring over the material that Grandfather has given us, I _do_ need a break from time to time."

Dayu gave a short laugh, "Oh, you're a sly one, young Master. And pestering me alleviates your boredom?"

Kenobi looked affronted. "Pestering? Ma'am, I merely offered to help you."

Dooku decided it would be best to intervene before Dayu's own temperamental nature ended in a polite scathing. He released his Force presence that he had hid in order to observe, and Kenobi automatically looked up.

"Ah, Grandfather, perhaps you could explain to our noble maid that I only seek to contribute to the vast amount of upkeep that I, and particularly my brother, need."

Dooku gave a wry smile, thinking of the "upkeep" that was needed after Skywalker rampaged through a room.

"While my staff and I appreciate your earnestness," Dooku replied, "I believe I need you elsewhere at the moment."

"Oh?" Kenobi stood and gave a small bow to their maid.

"Yes. I have a barber I hold in high esteem who should be here shortly."

"... Barber?"

Dayu gave a short laugh. "Well, young Master, your hair _is_ too long."

"My _hair_?" And despite Kenobi's best attempts there was a brief misting in his eyes that Dooku caught and frowned at.

"I'm certain you've noticed that neither I, nor my staff, wear our hair so long."

Kenobi nodded. "My apologies, Grandfather, it's just..." There was a small swirl in the Force as an old pain was released. Dooku raised a dark brow and wondered.

"Come, Obi-Wan," Dooku said instead, putting a hand on Kenobi's shoulder. "We shall set you up in the bathroom."

The boy nodded and walked beside him.

Quietly, Dooku asked, "Is there a reason you're attached to _hair_ of all things?"

Kenobi shook his head. "No, not really. I've just been working on growing it for the past three years."

Three years. Since Qui-Gon had died.

"Oh?"

"Yes," Kenobi nodded, his voice barely a whisper. "My Master, Qui-Gon Jinn, wore his hair at this length. It's not much, but I wanted to wear my hair like he did as a way to remember him."

The misted eyes suddenly made sense and Dooku's own eyes misted as he realized the emotion behind it. Indeed, that morning, since Kenobi had finally had control over one of his hands, had tied it half back in a perfect imitation of Dooku's old Padawan.

"I see."

"I can't mention that given that my 'father' just died," Kenobi continued, running his good hand through the reddish locks. "At this point, it's probably just the Will of the Force that I can't seem to get my hair long enough. If it's not cover for an assignment, it's Anakin's training saber burning through it."

Against his will, Dooku let out a bark of laughter.

"Might I at least keep the beard?" Kenobi asked, a small smile on his own lips.

Dooku ran a hand over his own facial hair. "I think that can be arranged. Though you'll need to shave part of it to appear more dignified."

"Of course. I suppose a goatee is more fashionable on this planet than a full and neatly-kept beard."

"Indeed."

In the bathroom, there was a chair near the large tub, meant for any who had difficulty removing clothing due to age. Dooku felt an eyebrow twitch at Dayu's insistence that it was needed, but said nothing, pulling it over by the sink where it would be easier to sweep up the hair. Kenobi took a seat and Dooku leaned against the double sink, taking a moment to think.

"Skywalker's education seems to have been... splotchy."

Kenobi nodded. "I've been working hard to fill in the gaps and bring him up to speed."

Dooku looked skeptical. "Catch him up? Just how bad of a student is he?"

Kenobi shook his head. "He's not a bad student. Actually, all things considered, he's made substantial progress."

Dooku looked even more skeptical.

Kenobi let out a soft sigh. "Anakin came to the Temple very late. He knows he's behind all the other initiates and Padawans and he's taken to the lessons very well. The only areas where he truly struggles are if he perceives a subject as boring or irrelevant. Even then, he'll slog through it and do well, but it just won't stick."

The Jedi master blinked, taking a moment to absorb that small morsel of information, and read what Kenobi wasn't saying.

"Just when did he arrive at the Temple?"

"When he was nine."

"Nine? _Nine_?" Dooku pinched the bridge of his nose. That explained why Kenobi never shared stories of his "father" with the staff that took place after he was sixteen. Skyalker would have been born around that time and it would have looked suspicious if Kenobi didn't mention stories without his "brother." It also explained why stories of the two of them were limited to their years as master and Padawan.

... That meant Kenobi took on Skywalker right after Qui-Gon's death...

But that was foolishness! What Jedi in any sort of right mind would allow a grieving Padawan to take _on_ a Padawan? Just _what_ was the Council _thinking_?

Dooku burned to express his displeasure, but he merely let out a soft sigh, the only sign of his feelings he'd allow himself.

He squashed his feelings, buried them to release to the Force later when he was alone. With this new information, Kenobi was correct. Skywalker's progress was remarkable. But the youngling was going to lack discipline if he took to the Force so swiftly. He needed to understand hard work and effort and self-control.

Dooku pulled himself from that line of thought. He was not the child's Master. It wasn't his place to question another's teaching methods of a Padawan, even if he wondered if Kenobi was truly ready. He held his feelings under rigid control.

"What can you tell me of his education?"

Naturally, no sooner had the question been asked then Dayu approached with someone not on staff.

"Milord," Dayu greeted with a proper bow. "The barber is here."

"Thank you," he replied, then turned to Kenobi. "We'll need to finish this conversation later."

Kenobi shrugged. "There's not much more to say."

Dooku disagreed, but showed nothing and left so that Kenobi could get a proper haircut. He needed to do some research. There was something in Qui-Gon's last mission he didn't know and that was unacceptable.

* * *

"Do I _have_ to wear this?"

Dooku glanced in his mirror to see Skywalker in his formal robes for the evening, exquisitely tailored and finely crafted. Plain white shirt hidden under a fitted gray vest and a formal coat of a deeper charcoal color, cut to the waist with two coattails extending in back. His dark trousers were formfitting, showing slightly spindly legs of adolescence, and handmade shoes. He, too, had been to the barber, his "delinquent" tail cut off. His braid still existed, the child adamantly insisting it was a memorial to his lost mother, and Kenobi had quickly explained that he, too, had worn one until he had come of age, and that it was a common tradition when a parent was lost on their planet.

Kenobi was in a similarly tailored suit, fitted slacks and a rich brown overcoat with coattails that hung to his knees. The ruffles of his white shirt poked out of the sleeves slightly, giving him a modern look. One arm was still in a sling, even after two weeks, and his goatee and short hair made him look handsome. The two were quite the striking pair, and Dooku knew they would be the talk of the party even without their creative backstory.

"The two of you are quite fetching," Dooku declared, turning to face them properly. His own colors were black and red, a hair more formal since he was the one hosting the gathering, and he wore a decorative scarf of a dark red.

"It's all so tight," Skywalker complained. "Fitted jackets are so _annoying._"

Dooku gave an irritated glance at the boy but ignored him, refusing to give the child any attention he clearly didn't need. Instead, he focused his gaze to Kenobi.

"The first guests will be arriving shortly. As I said before, this is a small party. At best there will only be around forty guests. Most of them are either political or noble, and are closer to me than to others. One of them is a likely candidate to the person I am assigned to find. The first half of the gathering will be greeting guests. Since this is your debut you will be there and exchange a few brief words. Deeper conversation will not happen until everyone has arrived. For now, keep all conversations polite and neutral."

Kenobi nodded. "I understand," he said. "Given the xenophobic nature of this planet, that we can be conceived of even obliquely as foreigners will make the guests naturally suspicious of us, and with their strong cultural attachment to communication we must respect that by following protocol to the letter."

"We already _know_ all this," Skywalker said. "You don't have to explain it all for a fifth time."

Dooku at last fixed a gaze on the youngling. "Then perhaps you should demonstrate that you have the discipline to handle simple instructions, _boy_."

Skywalker flushed bright red and Kenobi immediately clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Anakin," he said softly, "go see if Tori has finished plating the hors d'oeurvres. Help her if she hasn't." The boy pouted but did as he was told.

"He doesn't respond well to that," Kenobi said as soon as the child was gone.

Dooku stepped forward. "That much is obvious," he replied. "That child has no discipline to speak of. To be expected, I suppose, if he was discovered as old as you say, but there is also a lack in teaching that is perpetuating this problem."

Kenobi looked away.

"Do not look away, boy," Dooku said, narrowing his gaze. He had hoped to wait until after the gathering to have this conversation, but the Living Force appeared to have stepped in. "The price of unhindered talent is arrogance, and that youngling has it in abundance. Has he ever struggled in his studies?"

"... No."

"Find something. Anything. Make him study it with acute purpose. Criticize him constantly. Make him work for every piece of praise you seem to be heaping on to him. He needs to understand what it is to _work_ for something, _that_ is what will teach him discipline. Stop giving him the message that he is always right, it's hurting him."

Kenobi frowned. "I hardly give him the message-"

"You do," Dooku interceded. "It's visible in everything he does. Have you not noticed how quick he is to defend his position whenever he is taken to task? He does that because he knows if he presses enough you will concede. Does he learn whenever you do find it in yourself to discipline him? No, because he still thinks he was right and that you are just unfair."

The unhindered confusion radiating off of Kenobi only set Dooku's teeth on edge, and he closed his mouth before his irritation turned to anger; instead seeking to control himself once more. These two had a terrible knack for making him emotional, and he refused to forget the old lessons his life had taught him. With a deep, inaudible breath he gestured the Jedi to follow him, and the two left the count's rooms and went down to the foyer. The butler Benaag was there, offering a stout nod.

"You know where to find us," Dooku said simply, and guided Kenobi to the greeting room. Tori appeared briefly with young Skywalker in hand, a bright smile on her face as she dropped him off. She lingered a moment, giving a wink to the child before disappearing.

"Anakin?" Kenobi asked.

"I'm sorry," the youngling mumbled, dipping his head.

Dooku displayed nothing, only nodded his head in acceptance, and internally smirked. Another skill of his cook that he took advantage of during these functions, her mothering tendencies made handling the teens when they appeared at these functions _so_ much easier.

There was no time to talk after that as Benaag appeared with the first guest.

"My Lord Mesagog!" Dooku said brightly, greeting the reptilian. His species was native to the planet, the noble a healthy two hundred thirty-seven. The reptilian gave a firm three-talon handshake, his gold eyes bright and warm.

"I am happy you invited me," Mesagog said, his voice soft and smooth. Dooku watched as Anakin became fascinated how Mesagog's lower jaw moved, its undulating nature mesmerizing. "I take it these are your lost grandchildren?"

"It is an honor to meet an associate of my grandfather," Kenobi said smoothly, bowing his head in deference.

Mesagog nodded, placing his three-talon hand on the Jedi's shoulder. "I understand that our meeting is not under pleasant circumstances. For that I am sorry."

"Thank you for your condolences."

"Have you been here long?" Mesagog asked the boy, Skywalker. The young preteen blinked, his open mouth snapping closed.

"Oh, only a few weeks, sir," he stammered slightly. "Uh, I do call you 'sir,' right?"

Golden eyes smiled and Mesagog removed his hand from Obi-Wan to place it on Anakin. "I am not a member of your staff, child. You will address almost everyone here as 'my Lord' or 'my Councilor.' It was a good attempt, though."

Skywalker flushed at the polite correction, his jaw tightening, and he nodded. "Thank you, my Lord," he said carefully.

Mesagog nodded in approval, returning his gaze to Dooku. "I'll steal what time I can before the next guest arrives."

"Ah, too late for that, my Lord," said a female voice, and the three humans and reptilian turned to see a new guest arrive. She shrugged out of her shawl, handing it wordlessly to the maid Dayu, to reveal a silken frock that hugged her form tastefully and sensually. Minor stones encrusted the hems of her sleeves in a decorative pattern, as well as the cut of her deep neckline. The quality of her silk made the dress look airy, and her thick mass of honey-brown hair was pulled up to a tumble of tight curls.

"My Councilor Bridge," Dooku greeted, bowing formally before taking her in a gentle hug. "You look radiant."

"They all say that," she said softly, "but they never mean it. I did try though, these are your grandchildren, after all." She turned to the boys, both oogling her tactfully sensual beauty. Kenobi snapped out of it quickly, stepping forward and bowing, introducing himself. Skywalker needed to be prompted but he executed his introduction well enough, and it wasn't long before there was a steady stream of guests arriving and being greeted by Dooku and introduced to his new children. There were a few false starts on Skywalker's part, but after the first five guests or so the boy _finally_ lived up to the challenge. He seemed proud of himself but Dooku merely clucked his tongue, nonverbally expressing that he shouldn't have needed the learning curve in the first place. Kenobi hadn't.

Skywalker pouted outrageously at the hidden message and set his jaw. It was another sign of his lack of discipline that he didn't recognize that Dooku was trying to teach him, and the air around the boy grew tense.

That is, until Kenobi clapped a hand on Skywalker's shoulder, knelt down, and stared at him for several long seconds.

Were they... were they communicating telepathically? After only three years together? Just how tightly bonded were these two?

The question was quickly filed away, however, as Benaag appeared to signal that the last of the guests had arrived.

Dooku looked at the two boys, but Skywalker already quoted the directions the pair had been given.

"A lot of people are going to approach us and talk to us. We're to smile and nod and keep it small talk because we haven't made any close acquaintances yet - that's the whole point of this meeting. Our parents are off limits because they're lost and we're still grieving, we're wide-eyed and innocent to the ways of the culture and ask a lot of technical questions to learn everything you already told us and obliquely hint that you're perfect for taking us in."

"Anakin."

Skywalker pouted again before correcting himself. "You're 'generous' for taking us in."

Dooku listened to it with deliberate disinterest, and only nodded in acknowledgement at the conclusion. The boy seethed but reigned in his facial expressions. Slightly. It was an improvement regardless, and _that_ Dooku graced with an approving smile. He gave a quick look to Kenobi to show that _this_ was how teaching was done, and turned to join the assembled in the main dining hall. Everyone was standing around the room, clustered in small groups and cliques engrossed in conversation. With his arrival the party truly began.

Dooku's target for this event was Councilor Bridge, a member of the ruling council and a stout advocate of cessation from the Republic. Her honey brown curls were easy to pick out, she was talking with her close friend Mesagog, the gold eyed reptilian being of similar political viewpoints. Neither were the one Dooku was ultimately seeking, but the odds were good that Councilor Bridge, with her political connections, knew the next person in line that would take Dooku _to_ his ultimate goal. Zeltrax, ultimately, was a stepping-stone. The last seven months had led Dooku to Councilor Bridge, but he was not so eager that he would press his position. Instead, he circled around the room slowly, engaging in conversation with several of his patrons, offering small favors here and there to extend his reputation or his influence, tweaking the profile he had built for himself in small details to make him more affable to the right people, and overall seeing to the needs of his guests.

A little over an hour later, after the trivialities had been addressed, Tori appeared briefly, and Dooku signaled that it was time to eat. Tori and the hired help arrived with the banquet, and there were many oohs and aahs and hands immediately started snatching plates as people picked and chose what they wanted.

Kenobi, Dooku noted with a slight note of surprise, was right at home in the high-class environment. His polite and cultured words were smooth and seamless, and many commented to Dooku over the course of the night that he obviously took after his own esteemed person. Kenobi deflected several subtle questions about his heritage, never giving offense or seeming even to realize what he was doing. He lowered his eyes, arched his eyebrows, and tilted his head, all at the right cues; the boy was a natural. For a brief moment, Dooku could see Qui-Gon's training in Kenobi, all the good things in his old Padawan reflected in the boy, and for a long time he just stared.

"I am sorry for your loss, it appears it has affected you deeply."

Dooku stiffened, turning to see Mesagog with a glass of something in his clawed hand.

"Forgive me," he said quickly, "I do not intend to neglect my duties..."

The reptilian held up a hand. "Do not worry, my Lord," he replied easily, his lower jaw undulating. "I will keep your secret."

Dooku burned, slightly, to know he had let his control slip so dangerously that others could read his thoughts. He quickly schooled his expression and turned away from Kenobi.

Mesagog shook his head. "No, do not let me interrupt you. Your eldest grandson is a marvel to watch. One would never have guessed that he lived on another planet until two weeks ago." His large, reptilian head turned to Kenobi, and Dooku's eyes involuntarily followed. "He is remarkable."

Dooku feared what he would say in response, and so he said nothing.

The pair watched for a time before Mesagog ventured to ask another question. "Have you learned much about them since meeting them?"

"Not enough," Dooku said, unaware of the wistful quality in his voice. "Not nearly enough."

Mesagog eyed his patron for several seconds before putting his three-talon hand on Dooku's shoulder. "All things come with time. Human time is short by my standards, but I expect there will be enough."

Dooku turned to Mesagog, surprised to hear the understanding in his voice, before realizing that, over two hundred, there must have been several human friends Mesagog had that were passed on. Dooku suddenly felt his years, all the decades he had experienced and all the friends he, too, had lost or had been betrayed by. "Do you have regrets?" he asked softly, opening the opportunity for a truly intimate conversation.

Mesagog looked away for a time, and Dooku started to think that perhaps the two of them were not ready for that level of intimacy.

That was when the party crasher arrived.

Senator Goldar, resplendent in a rich blue overcoat that fit perfectly to his physical frame, fitted beige pants, and a stylish (and unnecessary) cane, walked casually into the room. The political opposite of every opinion in the house, everyone quieted as he made his entrance. Benaag trailed after him, flush with the impropriety of the act and struggling to find a polite way to kick the man out.

"So sorry I'm late," the reptilian senator said smoothly, willfully ignorant of the less than welcoming glares being thrown at him. He walked by and through several people before stopping in front of Dooku and Mesagog. Red eyes met gold only briefly before he continued. "I was shocked to hear of the discovery of your grandsons," he said, "You keep your private life so private."

"That is the tradition of Zeltrax, Senator," Dooku said, cordial, smooth, and profoundly annoyed that his maneuverings were being interrupted by this... _politician_. "Given the position you hold as representative of the Republic, one would hope that one would respect one's very own traditions."

The reptilian sniffed, elegantly taking a glass of something and swirling its contents in seeming contemplation. "I seek to perform my duty to the utmost of my ability," Goldar said. "When I learn that one of increasingly influential standing has a legacy, it is only right that a representative of the Republic comes to offer congratulations. Is that not so?"

Dooku's jaw worked slightly, his scope of focus narrowing to Goldar. The senator, by right of the fact that he was a senator, was pro-Republic where everyone in Dooku's carefully constructed social circle shied away from the bloated establishment. Zeltrax, a planet centered around communication, had little patience for the rampant political corruption, scandals, lies, and general untrustworthiness of the ruling structure of the Republic. Goldar's appearance was an open insult, moreover it was a message to Councilor Bridge - the person Dooku was trying to pursue as a lead to his quarry - that Dooku was watched and to be weary of. Months of work was being undone the longer this senator stayed, and Dooku mentally tallied through a list of ways to be rid of the reptilian.

First things first: humility.

"I hardly consider myself a person of influential standing," he said slowly. He was, of course, and determined to increase his influence to get what he wanted, but the profile he had created for himself included modesty in the political arena. An unassuming figure oblivious of the power he was garnering.

"You may not know it, my Lord," Senator Goldar said, "but you do; and that would make me remiss if I did not drop by for the debut of your grandsons. Tell me, where are they?"

As if on cue, young Skywalker marched right up to the reptilian. "Hello, Senator," he said with stiff formality, bowing slightly. "My name is Anakin."

"Hello, dear boy," the Senator said, bowing coyly in return. Goldar's red eyes scanned the boy quickly, almost dismissively, before locking onto the child's face. "Is that a Padawan braid you're wearing?"

Too controlled to let it show, Dooku started growling very loudly in his head.

Skywalker reached up to his braid and tugged it, tilting his head to one side. "It's my Loss Braid," he said, frowning. "It's a remembrance of my mother. I'll need a second one for my father, but Grandfather just gave me a haircut." Then he pouted. "Why are you being so rude? I thought people on this planet respected privacy."

Curses started filling Dooku's head, and he closed his eyes to the horror he was witnessing.

Senator Goldar took it in stride, smiling smoothly and patting the boy on the head with a three-talon hand. "You clearly don't know much about Zeltrax, do you? As a Senator my station is on equal footing with the Council; if we wanted to we could find out about anybody, but we choose not to out of respect for our citizen's privacy." Red eyes shifted to Dooku before continuing. "I am simply making polite conversation."

"It's a stupid conversation," Skywalker said, glaring up at the reptilian. "I _do_ know that conversation is important here, so I _thought_ you would do a little better when deciding how to talk to me than asking about my _hair_ of all things. If you're not going to ask an appropriate question, then don't bother asking, and if you don't bother asking, then what was the point in coming here?"

"Anakin," Kenobi said, sidling up to the boy, "I think you've more than made your point. Senator, it is a privilege to meet you, is there anything my brother or I can do for you? Or perhaps our grandfather?"

The reptilian senator spent a much longer time sizing up Kenobi, and everyone felt more than a little awkward at the flagrant examination. Dooku's fists were tightly gripped at his sides, shaking slightly, before he took a deep, calming breath and stepped forward to end the farce. Mesagog watched from his side.

"Senator," Dooku said politely, a coifed smiled on his lips. "I must respectfully advise you that you are making a scene. Perhaps, if you express such interest in my grandsons, you may come at a later date, when there are fewer boundaries to cross." It also meant meeting Goldar in private, which could and would send all sorts of _wrong_ messages to Councilor Bridge, Lord Mesagog, and any other number of people Dooku was trying to keep in good graces. This was going to be a major setback. _Major_. He was _seething_.

None of it showed.

Goldar smiled, insomuch as his reptilian jaw would allow, and nodded his head. Satisfied that he had gotten what he wanted, the senator turned and exited, leaving an empty loss of air in everyone's lungs.

The party ended shortly after that, far too soon for an average gathering, and Dooku's jaw was noticeably tight as he bid farewell to his guests. Lord Mesagog and Councilor Bridge left together, both offering measured looks before departing, and as soon as everyone was gone Dooku allowed himself the luxury of cursing.

Of course, young Skywalker was there to hear it.

"What is your problem?" the twelve-year-old asked.

Cold, hard eyes turned to the boy. "The 'problem' is that the last seven months of work I've put into cultivating my reputation and my political opinion has just been shredded to bits, all because _you_ could not keep your mouth _shut_."

"How is this _my_ fault?" Skyalker demanded, instantly irate. "You wanted him to leave, didn't you? That's what I did!"

"No, you drew attention to yourself," Dooku said. "Instead of intimating polite conversation like you were _supposed_ to you broke several rules of conduct and instigated conversation with an official of higher rank than you, making you and therefore me look impertinent, feckless, and decidedly _pro-Republic_!"

Kenobi stepped forward, his brown coat hanging on his arms. "I, too, am partially to blame," the redhead said. "I stepped in as well, and for the damage we've done I am sorry."

Dooku was in no mood for this. "And now you cover for him _again,_" he hissed, losing more and more control of his emotions. "That brat of a youngling will never learn because of this!"

"I'm _here_ you know! Don't talk like I'm not in the room!"

"Silence, youngling."

"You can't tell me what to do!"

Dooku took a menacing step forward, ready to unleash a verbal thrashing - damn the fact that the boy was Kenobi's Padawan - when there was a polite cough, and all three parties turned to see the butler, Benaag, walking by the open door. Dooku realized he was having an argument where the entire staff could hear him, and that he had to be careful with his words. He had never had such a breach in his character before, and he leveled downright hateful glares at the two boys he had taken in out of kindness and was now paying for.

"We will discuss this at a later date," he said with utter finality, before marching out of the room and to his quarters.

* * *

**Author's Notes**: And we touch on a few things. If any of you have worked with children or have children of your own, you'll note that Dooku's approach to teaching/parenting is hardly loving. But with a bright child, there _does_ need to be some sort of challenge. If a kid finds something easy and never has to work for something, it does do harm in the long run. It's not easy raising a child or teaching a child, and there is no real manual since every child is different. Dooku's not wrong in what he's trying to do, and his method can lead to the results he wants, but it needs to be countered with love and affection (something Jedi don't quite believe in) and that's where Obi-Wan comes into play. Obi-Wan is truly the best to train Anakin because he understands the need for affection and what Anakin's problems are. He just isn't getting support from the rest of the Jedi (as evidenced in the novelization of Attack of the Clones, in our opinion).

Sorry, it's the teacher in us. We love delving into that kind of stuff.

And Dooku, having not really been with the Jedi for a while in his undercover work and always being away from the Temple, sees that a grieving Padawan took on a Padawan and wonders what the hell the Council was thinking, not knowing of Qui-Gon's last wish. Dooku can look at them, not knowing the special circumstances, and see just how messed up things are because of all the exceptions. Granted, Anakin needed training, Obi-Wan was the best one for the job, etc, but Anakin _does_ go to the Darkside and that's because of some fundamental flaws that Jedi can't take care of.

We seem to keep rambling and rambling. Sorry.

And we finally touch on who Dooku is seeking as his stepping stone and spin a bit of the mission plot. Naturally, the three visitors we name will be important (Councilor Bridge, Mesagog and Goldar). We won't say how, we'll just let that unfold. ^_^

Hope you enjoyed! See you next week.


	4. Chapter 4

**Part Four**

"You can't blame Anakin for that."

Dooku looked across the grey table to Qui-Gon. The room was still grey, but it was decidedly darker than the last time he had visited it, and it made Qui-Gon's ghost, projection, hallucination, seem all the brighter for it. Dooku almost had to squint to see him. He wasn't as startled this time, he had accepted before that this was a dream - harmless signals firing back and forth in his mind. Dooku had never been gifted with Force dreams, and he knew this was nothing more than his mind playing tricks on him. He stared at the apparition, however, and wished desperately that some facet of it was real.

Such thoughts would do no good, however, and so he clamped down on his emotions.

"Who else is there to blame?" he demanded.

Qui-Gon shrugged, leaning back and strumming his fingers on the dark grey table. "Who is to say there is any reason to lay blame on anybody?"

Dooku snorted, more than used to his Padawan's riddles from when the man was a teenager. "I'm in no mood for games, Qui-Gon. What do you mean?"

A smirk. "Maybe it was supposed to happen. Maybe it was the Will of the Force."

"I _highly_ doubt the Will of the Force would care over something so trivial."

"Ah," Qui-Gon said, leaning forward again. "So you admit that the party was trivial."

"Trivial to the scope of the galaxy and the universe? Yes. Trivial to me and all the effort I've put in to this assignment? Hardly."

"Then perhaps it's a matter of point of view," Qui-Gon said, shifting his weight in his chair. The man could _never_ sit still. "Consider this," he continued, "From your point of view this is a major setback - an opinion that has merit but doesn't know all the facts, granted - but a setback nonetheless. To Anakin he was trying to help you; he wants very much to prove himself to you. To all Jedi, really, he has something of a complex because of where he came from. To him he just performed an enormous feat: he interpreted your needs - not an easy task, I speak from experience on that - but not only did he interpret your needs, he also found means to bring about the ends you were looking for. Your response? To take his help and spit on it."

Dooku tightened his jaw. "I fail to see what the opinion of a half-educated _Padawan_ has any bearing on this."

Qui-Gon smiled again, this time a little sadly, before leaning his head into a hand. "You've changed if you can say that and mean it. I remember when I was your Padawan and you _always_ said that; but when I was older I realized, eventually, that you never meant it. It was your test to make me think more, push myself. You knew exactly how to push my buttons to make me want to try again, to be better, to grow. It's one thing to provoke that 'I'll show you' mentality, Anakin responds very well to it, but unlike me Anakin can accept it best when the person he's 'showing' is someone he can trust. You should know that there are _very_ few people in the Order that Anakin does trust."

"Is there a point in this?" Dooku demanded, irritated that his former Padawan wasn't taking his side. "Don't tell me you want me to coddle the boy like Kenobi? He gets enough of that as it is."

Qui-Gon pressed on. "The one you really need to 'coddle', if you insist on using that word, is Obi-Wan. He's only just now come to terms with losing me, and whether you realize it or not, one word from you could send him spiraling back into that painful world of self-doubt. Be very careful what you say to him."

"Why?" Dooku demanded.

Qui-Gon's face changed; became utterly intense. "Because he's not the one invoking Anakin's lack of discipline."

"... What?"

The sudden left turn in their conversation did not change the sense of impending importance of Qui-Gon's eyes.

Gaze intense, face hard, Qui-Gon explained. "Whether you believe it or not, Obi-Wan is the best choice to raise Anakin. What no one knows, however, is that there is someone else pulling that boy's strings. Anakin has become the focus of a much larger game - one that the Will of the Force would _hardly_ consider trivial."

Dooku stared at Qui-Gon, disbelieving, uncertain where all of this was coming from. Did Qui-Gon mean...? What _did_ Qui-Gon mean? What good did knowing Skywalker has a second influence have on what had happened that night? What good did knowing Skywalker's state of mind? Or Kenobi's for that matter? Was Qui-Gon implying that because Skywalker was part of a larger game, part of the _Will of the Force_, that the disaster that night really _was_ the Will of the Force? What kind of circle of thought was that?

What was he supposed to _do_ with this anyway? The boys would be gone in a month or two at best, once a cover story had been created and an opportunity presented itself. He would never see the two again, so what was the _point_ in all of this?

Dooku took a deep breath, struggling with his confusion and his anger over the events of the night and his frustration that was sometimes omnipresent with his Padawan. He refused to let any of it show on his face and in his demeanor.

Qui-Gon, in response, reached out and touched Dooku's hand, getting the older man's attention and fixing him with a sad, knowing look.

"There is a difference, you know, in controlling your emotions and releasing them, my old master. It seems that time has made you forget the difference."

"And what does _that_ mean?" Dooku said calmly, tired of all the riddles.

Qui-Gon leaned back in his chair again, and made a sweeping gesture of the room. "If you were really releasing your emotions, Master, then why is this room so dark?"

* * *

Dooku rubbed a towel over his face, holding control over his breathing, despite the workout he'd just had. A few subtly asked questions at breakfast with the staff earlier that week had provided the excuse that they all knew swordsmanship, something Dooku's "son" had passed on to his grandsons. With that revelation, evenings after dinner were devoted to practice.

Against his will he noted with some surprise at the choice of styles from his grandPadawans. He knew Qui-Gon had favored the flashy and acrobatic Ataru form, and he could see elements of it in Kenobi, showing that it had been passed on. But Kenobi's kata and stances were all Soresu. When asked, all Kenobi had said was that he had changed styles three years prior. That had been when Qui-Gon died and Dooku _yearned_ to ask the story of it. The complete story, not the edited reports the Council put forth or whatever the sealed file in the Archives was. But he kept his tongue.

Skywalker, by contrast, was still in Shii-Cho, unsurprising given how far behind he apparently was. Yet to Dooku's well hidden surprise, after only three years, the youngling was well on his way to mastery. When Dooku had offered to spar, given Kenobi's current inability to, and was surprised by his _lack_ of surprise that Skywalker was already showing moves of the aggressive Djem So. A subtly asked "Why?" gave a half-garbled story on how Kenobi had once taken a blaster to the shoulder (when he was still learning Soresu, no doubt) and Skywalker vehemently choosing Djem So to block any more blasters sent to his master.

Noble. But not a good style for an uncontrolled Padawan like Skywalker.

Dooku held his tongue on that, however, as vestiges of a dream with Qui-Gon flickered across his mind.

Instead, he sought to address another shortcoming of Skywalker's.

With a controlled breath, he turned to where Kenobi was still doing his kata, despite the bound arm and Dayu's medical protests. "Obi-Wan, young Anakin seems to have no stamina to speak of."

Skywalker, flat on the floor (given Djem So's natural weakness to Dooku's preferred Makashi) let out a strangled squawk of protest.

Kenobi chuckled. "He... missed a year of schooling after the loss of our mother and we've been working hard to catch him up."

Translation - he'd been focusing on an education Skywalker had likely lacked before becoming a Jedi.

"H...Hey!" Skywalker attempted to sit up only to fall back again.

"Your father had some difficulty with stamina as well," Dooku replied. "There was a point where he'd been quite ill and getting him back to form was difficult as he'd lost much muscle mass." There was no point in mentioning that it had been a Jedi-aimed poison on a horrid mission where their contact had, unsurprisingly, betrayed them. Dooku looked to young Skywalker and smiled. "We ended up running fifteen miles a day."

"Urk!"

Kenobi grinned as well. "Was that all? Once a week he had me run thirty."

"Ah!"

"Hn. Indeed. Shall we start Anakin at something smaller? He's young and should have plenty of energy for, say, twelve miles?"

"One mile!" Skywalker wheezed.

Kenobi shook his head. "Remember, Anakin needs to build his stamina." Skywalker attempted to nod enthusiastically. "Say, ten miles?"

The youngling's jaw dropped. "Um, ah, three!"

Dooku merely nodded knowingly. "You bring up a good point. Ease him up. How about seven?"

Skywalker managed to scramble to his feet, huffing and puffing, and shouted, "Five miles!"

Kenobi and Dooku both looked to the youngling and smiled.

"Five miles it is," Dooku nodded in acceptance. "I'll collect you at dawn tomorrow."

The look on Skywalker's face was priceless as his exhausted brain caught up with what had happened before he pouted terribly.

Dooku held in a chuckle, Skywalker's pout reminded him far too much of Qui-Gon at that age, just before teenage rebellion hit full stride.

He ran a towel over his face again, with another measured breath and Dooku could almost swear he could feel the Force pulsing between his grandPadawans.

Such a strong bond. One not seen in over a generation of Jedi. If not longer. Fascinating.

"Milord."

All three turned to see Benaag bowing politely, Dayu behind him to start cleaning up the banquet hall turned training salle.

"Yes, Benaag?" Dooku was once more the calm polite noble, his amusement with his grandPadawans put completely aside.

"A call for you from Councilor Bridge."

"Of course. I'll take it in my study. I'll just need a moment to wash up."

"I shall inform her, milord," Benaag bowed out and Dayu bustled in to start getting their practice sabers and shooing Kenobi and Skywalker off the mat so she could fold it up.

Dooku left the quiet laughter behind him, already focusing on the task at hand. Councilor Bridge seeking him meant one of two things. Either, by some miracle, she'd forgiven the rumors that Goldar had let loose after their more private meeting, or she was politely informing him that she was cutting ties with him, since this planet so firmly believed in face-to-face communication, no matter how unpleasant.

After washing his face and running a wet comb through his hair, Dooku entered his office where the small hologram of the Councilor was waiting.

"My Councilor," he greeted with a bow of the proper depth.

"_Count Dooku_," she replied with a curtsey. With a smile she began, "_I suppose you're worried over why I called_."

"I am merely glad to see your honorable personage."

She gave a bell-like laugh. "_Always so polite. I wonder if those grandsons of yours will loosen you up at all_."

"They keep me on my toes," Dooku replied cordially, "that much I can assure you."

"_Young Anakin most especially, no doubt_," she smiled.

They continued polite pleasantries, inquiring on each other's families and small talk on the state of Zeltrax and the sorry state of the Republic.

"_That reminds me,_" she said, finally getting to the point of her call. "_In about two weeks time, I'll be having a gathering. A party to celebrate the turn of seasons_."

"Yes," Dooku gave a polite smile. "I do enjoy the summers. An excellent chance to be outside and with the splendor our planet offers."

Bridge nodded approvingly, her posture easing somewhat. "_I'm glad you agree. I would have had this party this week, but by estimates young Obi-Wan should finally be healed by then._"

Dooku relaxed as well. Unsaid was her invitation, despite what Goldar had done, as well as how she accepted young Kenobi since, by this planet's culture, as Dooku's heir, Dooku would soon be starting to bring his protégé to such gatherings to make connections. While Dooku would prefer to do his work alone, Kenobi at least seemed competent enough to not mess it up. To postpone for two weeks just so Dooku would attend was testimony to how highly she thought of him in spite of recent events.

He'd also have to brief Kenobi on who he was looking for, but those details could be worked out later. For the moment, Dooku gave a deep bow to show his appreciation.

"_I'm glad you'll make it_," Bridge said warmly.

"I'd be delighted."

* * *

Two weeks later, at the party, Dooku was once more making small talk, only this time Kenobi was by his side. He had briefed his grandPadawan on whom he was looking for thoroughly during the little time they had without his staff somewhere nearby. Po Nudo was the head of the Hyper Communications Cartel, and under his micro-managing guidance, was the mouthpiece for a fairly substantial anti-Republic sentiment throughout the galaxy. The Jedi were concerned with such a large feeling of disgust and disillusionment among the people and Dooku was investigating to see if it was people just parroting back what Nudo broadcasted or if there really was some serious concerns that needed addressing. The Jedi could, under no circumstances, handle a civil war if it broke out, and as such, Dooku was investigating and seeking to nip it in the bud.

The fact that he agreed with the downslide of the Republic and that things were becoming more and more corrupt and mired in difficulty to do even the simplest things, made him perfect for the assignment. Zeltrax subscribed to Nudo's HCC, rather than the standard HoloNet, and indeed was one of the largest supporters, making it the ideal planet for Dooku to start his undercover investigation. Now, almost a year later, Dooku felt he was getting close. Close to the next person in the chain that would lead him up to Po Nudo himself, so that Dooku could take his measure of the man and go from there.

Councilor Bridge was the key. So Dooku and Kenobi made polite small talk with her and Mesagog, her primary supporter, subtle turns of conversation to try and reach that meeting to the next person he'd start to work with, someone at HCC so that he could understand their infrastructure and start working his way up the chain of command.

Kenobi was proving to be a remarkable help in this endeavor. He provided anecdotes of various planets he'd visited and some of the tragedies that occurred along with a few personal accounts of occasionally meeting a corrupt senator or bureaucrat and how people just seemed to be putting up with being treated poorly. If anything, the fact that he was, for all intents and purposes, an off-worlder was completely ignored in favor of the fresh stories he could provide of how the Republic was no longer working.

"I do wish there was a way to share these stories," Dooku commented. "The HCC will show the corruption rampant in the Republic, but most of the galaxy simply uses the HoloNet, which I'm certain the Senate has in their back pockets." He sipped from his glass. "I've toyed with the idea, on occasion, of even some simple billboard advertisements for Coruscant or maybe the more mid-rim worlds that might be more on the fence."

Councilor Bridge gave her bell-like laugh, throwing her head back and letting her honey curls sway. "I'd hate to think what those power-hungry politicians would do to you if they found out."

Kenobi played his part and looked concerned. "Grandfather, Anakin and I have only just gotten you. Please don't do anything to make us lose you."

The sincerity of that statement was so palpable, even though it was subtle, that Dooku couldn't quite stop a hand from reaching up to his grandPadawan's shoulder. He was suddenly thinking of the fact that Kenobi had lost Qui-Gon and had been grieving for three years. Even if the pain was old and faded, it was still there, just as it was with Dooku. Kenobi listened to Dooku, attentively and with deference, and suddenly Dooku couldn't help but wonder if any of the Jedi back at the Temple had truly helped this boy through his grief. Dooku may be playing at being grandfather, but by playing the part, he was giving support and counsel to a Padawan-turned-Knight. Off-handedly, Dooku wondered if Kenobi was latching on to him as a master to seek guidance from since Qui-Gon was no longer there. And this was compounded further by the fact that Dooku _was_ his grandfather in a way.

So Dooku squeezed his shoulder, and made a mental note that the staff was going to need a weekend off so that he could sit down and perhaps truly talk with Kenobi about Qui-Gon. Reveal his relationship to him, and thereby Skywalker, and maybe talk a little about how things needed to be done. Or... reminisce on how things once were.

But that couldn't be dealt with now. Instead, Dooku continued with the part he was playing for the party. "I would never put myself in harm's way on purpose," Dooku said softly, "but surely you realize that one can't simply stand by and let injustices happen? I'm not advocating a revolt, merely a peaceable display of information so that people might finally start talking. And if no agreement can be reached, maybe then, seceding from the Republic."

"A fascinating idea," Mesagog replied. "Nobody cares for violence, but we can hardly sit by either."

Kenobi gave a polite shrug. "I'm merely a learner that..."

Dooku frowned, wondering what had caused his grandPadawan to trail off like that. Indeed, he, Mesagog and Bridge were all scrutinizing Kenobi as all color drained completely from his face.

Dooku moved his arm from Kenobi's shoulder to his arm, seeking to steady him just in case.

There was a tremor in the Force. The Unifying Force, something Dooku studied but was only passable with.

"Obi-Wan?" he asked quietly, flaring his Force signature in an attempt to get Kenobi's attention. Bridge, ever the host, gestured and her butler came. With swift instructions, she ordered a room for Kenobi as he clearly wasn't fully healed from the "accident" that dropped them on Dooku's doorstep. She and Mesagog helped Kenobi to said room, before she cringed and left, needed to attend to her guests.

Kenobi was giving polite rebuttals that he was fine, but Mesagog and Dooku just as politely bullied him to a chair. Once seated, Kenobi leaned back and closed his eyes. In the Force Dooku had no problems sensing the _reaching_ that Kenobi was doing, most likely along the bond.

Did something happen to Skywalker?

... Was that the reason behind Kenobi's sincere words of not wishing to lose someone again? Not just about Qui-Gon but because he was sensing something with Skywalker? Dooku cursed himself for his arrogance.

"Obi-Wan?" he asked again, with a touch of firmness, and a small push with the Force to remind Kenobi that now wasn't the best time for whatever he was doing.

Kenobi looked up, a split second of pure worry across his face before composure settled back in. "My apologies. I don't mean to cause you any worry. Please, you're here to enjoy yourselves, don't let me interrupt."

Kenobi was giving them an out. A way to return to the party. But Dooku knew with some sort of Force-given certainty that the moment he left, the grandPadawan of his that showed the most discipline and culture and was a shining achievement of Qui-Gon's many positive attributes, was going to do something colossally stupid.

"I wouldn't be much of a grandfather if I just dumped you here and went back to the party," Dooku replied firmly.

"And I wouldn't be much of a friend," Mesagog added.

Dooku turned, somewhat surprised at the open admittance, before giving a polite bow of thanks.

"_Anakin_..."

Dooku rigidly controlled himself with every ounce of willpower he had from stiffening and looking around. "...Qui-Gon..." he whispered, despite his control, and Kenobi looked at him sharply.

"What's wrong?" Mesagog asked, his voice dripping worry where his reptilian face could not.

Dooku thought quickly, running through the culture of the planet and remembering that their belief in communication occasionally included those who had passed on, from the more isolated regions. He'd need to edit his history a bit, but he could offer the truth. He turned to Mesagog and merely whispered with the awe and disbelief he had at actually _hearing_ Qui-Gon's voice and not in some dream, "My son..."

Mesagog's golden eyes expressed disbelief and some degree of sympathy for grief and opened his mouth to say something before the lights suddenly cut out.

"What?" Kenobi asked, his voice indicating he was already standing. Emergency power from Bridge's own generators came on and Dooku was unsurprised to see Kenobi in a defensive stance.

Mesagog reached out and put a taloned hand on each of their shoulders. "I think attending this party might have been too soon," he said gently. "You're both still grieving. Let me escort you home."

Dooku mentally growled at the lost chance to speak with Bridge and was about to say something to keep them there when Kenobi interrupted.

"I think that's for the best. I'm worried about Anakin. He finds trouble with the ease of a nexu hunting prey. I imagine it will be worse with the lights out."

Oh yes, Kenobi was worried about his Padawan. Something must have filtered across their unusually strong bond and Dooku couldn't help but think that he needed to trust Kenobi in this. Kenobi was incredibly competent in negotiation and persuasion. To willingly give up what the goal of this mission was, even if Kenobi wasn't originally meant to be there, meant that whatever Kenobi was sensing had to be serious. Reaching for the Force himself, Dooku felt he needed to stay with his grandPadawan. If Kenobi was this distracted by something, it was worth investigating.

Dooku turned to give a polite bow to Mesagog. "We thank you. I'll call my driver and-"

The reptilian shook his head gracefully. "No, my friend. We'll be taking my hovercar. We'll leave word with your driver."

Dooku was about to offer a polite refusal, as was proper here, but he saw Kenobi shift ever so slightly, a tiny sign of his anxiety to get going, unnoticeable to the average person. With a quiet sigh Dooku decided now wasn't the time for proper etiquette.

"Let's go."

The ride through the dark streets was silent. Mesagog tried for polite conversation, but Kenobi was far too focused in the direction of their home, his countenance still far too pale. Dooku sat behind as Mesagog drove, Kenobi also in front and attempting not to look so stressed. Dooku was on the edge of his seat, a hand on Kenobi's shoulder as a reminder of where he was and in the Force, he sent small pulses of calm. Kenobi outwardly might seem worried but in control, in the Force there was a barely-contained surge of almost-fear. Flashes of Qui-Gon's funeral, a funeral of a young teenage girl, a fellow white-haired Padawan. Along with each brief flash was a sense of loss and not being able to save anyone. Dooku wished to do something to help focus Obi-Wan, but Kenobi wasn't his Padawan and as such he didn't know what sort of cues to use to help him concentrate.

So instead, Dooku sat there with his hand on a grandPadawan's shoulder, looking through the emergency lights that were flickering and failing along the street.

"Isn't that your butler?" Mesagog asked and Dooku turned to look where the reptilian was gesturing.

"It is." Dooku's frown was clearly visible through his beard and Mesagog pulled over where the gentleman's gentleman was talking, along with several other butlers, to a representative from the power company, who was calmly trying to answer their questions with information as he received it on his datapad.

"Benaag!" Dooku called, and his staff member turned in surprise before jogging over. "What's happened?"

"Milord," Benaag replied. "I'm surprised to see you."

"Councilor Bridge also lost power," Kenobi said, still staring in the direction of their manor.

"The power is out that far?" Benaag shook his head in surprise. "After the power went out we've been scrambling. Anton was working with the waterlines for the gardens and has been trying to prevent the flooding by hunting around for a manual shutoff. We don't even have backup power working. Tori's paranoid about the food and moving all perishables from the cooling unit to the wine cellar."

"Never mind that," Dooku interrupted. "Anakin? Where is Anakin?"

Benaag blinked in confusion but answered promptly. "He was tired after supper and went straight to bed."

"See?" Mesagog turned to them, his gold eyes shining with relief. "All's fine. Your grandson is safe at home."

"No, he's not," Obi-Wan said quietly, still looking to the dark manor. "Not in the slightest."

"Milord?"

"Come on," Dooku shifted over, giving Benaag room to get in. While Mesagog started down the drive to the manor, Dooku reached out with the Force himself. Skywalker's signature was nothing if not powerful, easily sensed, strong with the Force, and rough around the edges from not having trained for long. But the bright presence was nowhere to be sensed.

Dooku _worked_ to hold back a growl.

Once Mesagog had parked, both Dooku and Kenobi were out of the hovercar, rushing up the steps.

"Anakin!" Obi-Wan called out. "Anakin!"

Dooku didn't even bother to call, instead heading straight up their grand staircase and to the rooms that Kenobi and Skywalker resided. He slammed open the door to find Dayu, their maid and medic, on the ground, unconscious, and the bed rumpled from where the kidnappers had taken Anakin.

Behind him he heard Obi-Wan sink heavily into a chair while Mesagog let out a low uncharacteristic curse. Benaag was rushing to Dayu's aid.

Anger was welling up in Dooku. Rage. He kept a tight lid on it, not allowing any of it to show, but he still _seethed_.

Anakin was _his_ grandPadawan. No matter his relation to Qui-Gon or Obi-Wan, _no one_ hurt those under Dooku's protection. He was a Jedi of the highest order, a Master, often considered part of the Old Guard, likely to join the Council due to his wisdom and experience. _No one_ did this to a Jedi that he was looking after, that had trusted him to keep him safe...

"_You should know that there are _very_ few people in the Order that Anakin does trust._"

That line from Qui-Gon ran through Dooku's boiling fury and cut straight through all of Dooku's preconceived notions of Anakin.

That child wasn't any sort of amalgamation of Qui-Gon. Not even of Qui-Gon's worst qualities. No, the reason Dooku often felt antagonistic was because Anakin Skywalker was a younger version of _Dooku_. Only where Dooku had learned hard lessons to not trust _anyone_. Anakin already had them. Anakin didn't trust anyone. Even the staff, whom he was friendly with, he didn't trust. Anakin was just as Dooku was after his old friend, Lorian Nod, had betrayed him and after his other childhood friend, Eero Iridian, joined forces with Lorian. Anakin did not trust just _anyone_, something Dooku understood all too well. But there _was_ one person Anakin trusted. Obi-Wan Kenobi. Just as there was only one person Dooku had ever trusted and not been betrayed by. Qui-Gon Jinn.

Well, Dooku knew how lonely his cautious heart could be. And he would _not_ let Anakin think Obi-Wan was the only trustworthy Jedi. Dooku was going to be one that Anakin could count on as well. Because Dooku had needed someone like that after his painful betrayals, and the Jedi with their detachment hadn't quite understood the way Dooku suddenly understood where Anakin was coming from.

He had tried for years to teach Qui-Gon to be cautious and not so trusting right away. Qui-Gon, by contrast, had tried to teach Dooku to have more faith in beings.

Dooku decided it was time he learned that lesson; and the greatest way to learn was to teach. He was going to teach Anakin to trust. Cautiously and carefully, but he _would_ learn to trust in beings and the Force the way he trusted Obi-Wan.

"M-m-lord?"

Dooku's jaw worked to loosen from its grinding grip on his anger and he dropped his shoulders to try and ease the tension springing through his body.

"Tori?" he turned, "Are you alright?"

"Yes, milord," she replied, stepping cautiously into the room, tears threatening to fall. "They never saw me. I watched from the pantry."

Dooku started to stride forward, his rigid control slipping as he demanded, "_What happened_?"

Tori stepped back, shocked at the tower of fury before her. Mesagog put a claw on Dooku's shoulder and the old Jedi reminded himself that he was in the middle of a mission that just got complicated. With great effort, he let out a long controlled breath, willing his rigid hold on himself to return. And took another breath.

Obi-Wan leaned forward from his chair. "Please," he said quietly. "What happened to Anakin?"

"I... I'm sorry, young Master," she said, tears leaking from her eyes. When the power went out, oh we were scrambling. Emergency power didn't come on and we were scrambling..." she repeated herself. With a little shake, she continued more steadily. "Benaag left to see if he could find out anything, Anton's been growling in the back gardens. I was worried about the food and Dayu was getting smaller battery lights to at least give us something."

Dooku, in more control of himself, stepped forward more calmly and put a hand on her shoulder. "It must have been frightening."

The cook nodded. "I was down in the kitchens. Didn't hear anything going on up here, but..." Tori looked down and away. "I was in the pantry, just opening the door when I saw them. Two people. One was Human. Don't know _what_ the other was, but not from Zeltrax. And they were carrying... Oh, young Master Anakin," Tori sobbed again.

"Benaag," Dooku said softly and with a gentility he did _not_ feel at the moment. "See to Tori and Dayu."

"Dooku?" Mesagog asked quietly, but Dooku was already moving, Obi-Wan falling in step beside him. The reptilian noble strode after them. Dooku all but stormed into his office. His pragmatic, elegant office where every single object had a specific purpose. He went by his desk, where the flower arrangement set out by Anton was still wilting, as per custom after the loss of a family member. Once the bouquet was completely dead, it was time for the family to return fully to their lives. Dooku's flowers still had petals stubbornly clinging to life, much as Qui-Gon seemed to cling to his dreams.

On the wall was a decorative set of three swords. Diamond-based and honed so that the edge was no wider than a molecule, they were meant as Dooku's backup if he ever needed to defend himself without using his lightsaber. Wordlessly he pulled them down from the wall. The short sword would be for Anakin, once they found him. Of the two remaining, he gave the lighter one to Obi-Wan, who still didn't quite have full strength back in his arms, and sheathed the last sword for himself.

"Dooku?" Mesagog stepped forward, his golden eyes worried. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to get my grandson back," he replied. And then he would sit with these grandPadawans of his and properly talk to them. About Qui-Gon, about the lessons he'd learned, and the ones Qui-Gon had taught him. After he properly dealt with whoever had _dared_ to take the Jedi under his care, who _dared_ kidnap a grandPadawan, Dooku's legacy, _Qui-Gon's_ legacy. All that was left of his only close friend and apprentice.

The reptilian noble's head swayed in his species manner, before giving a solid nod. "Very well. Such is your right. We must speak with your cook once more. With a better description, we will know where to hunt." And in Mesagog's expression was his predator ancestry with a smile that promised pain to any who would hurt a child.

"No need," Dooku replied. "Someone not from Zeltrax? That's the spaceport. A few questions there and we'll find who we need."

"Perhaps," Mesagog granted, "but do we know what lifeform we're looking for?"

Dooku already knew. The image had been clear in Tori's mind, a Sullustan, known for their small stature, large ears, dark eyes, and dewflaps. But he couldn't say that. Instead he gave an alternative. "Then speak with her. Obi-Wan and I will be on our way. Contact us through my comm."

He moved to leave, but Mesagog stood in front of him, barely taller than Dooku, and oozing the nobility he'd lived for over two centuries. Dooku stopped, remembering he needed this person as a friend to help get Councilor Bridge to get to the HCC.

"You are too angry, my friend," Mesagog said calmly. "I would be remiss to just let you go."

Dooku's brow twitched in irritation, but he took another deep and controlled breath, squashing all his feelings down and burying them. Really, Qui-Gon's Padawans seemed to always bring out things he thought he'd long since mastered.

But then, Qui-Gon often did the same. An inherited trait then.

"Grandfather?" Obi-Wan asked, approaching his side. "I want Anakin back, but we need to think about this. Going in rashly will gain us nothing."

But the Living Force always guided one to action, and Dooku was quite familiar with the Living Force. As was Qui-Gon. As was Anakin. Yet Obi-Wan was reminding him of the Jedi way, patience.

"A youngling teaching a Master," he said quietly. It was how he'd known that Qui-Gon would ultimately be his Padawan. "Obi-Wan, you take after your father far too much sometimes."

His grandPadawan looked confused, but pushed it aside. "I really must tell you some stories of Qui-Gon," Dooku said softly, memories of the best years of his life bubbling up.

Dooku's anger was still there. It was tightly wrapped in his resolve that he was going to _talk_ to these grandPadawans of his and that his desire had been snatched away by some villain who needed to understand that Dooku wasn't one to be meddled with. But he let all of that go, buried it deep down so that he could focus on the task at hand and bring Anakin home.

Mesagog gave a nod and his warmest reptilian smile and the three returned to his staff. Dayu was on Obi-Wan's bed, still unconscious, while Benaag was trying to console a weeping Tori. A glance with Obi-Wan sent his grandPadawan to the cook and coax a description from her while he went to Dayu. Dooku may not be a trained healer, but after the decades he'd lived, one learned a thing or two. Mesagog joined him, his own centuries having the weight of knowledge with them.

Dooku reached with the Force to aide a few things as he checked her pulse and pulled off her bonnet to look at a nasty bump forming above her ear. Small touches of the Force, delicate encouragements, and his maid was waking up.

"Milord?" she mumbled, her voice slurred as she looked around, trying to make sense of things.

"Easy, Dayu, easy," he said quietly, helping her up and setting pillows as support.

"Ergh," the maid groaned. "Feels like I've gone a few rounds with Anton after he drags his dirty boots through the..." she stopped. "Master Anakin! Urk!" holding her head in her hands, she grimaced.

"What happened?" Dooku asked, far more in control of himself than he had been earlier.

"Master Anakin went to bed right after supper," Dayu explained. "Unusual for him. He's such a nocturnal."

Dooku couldn't quite hold back a grin at that. Waking Anakin up for his five-mile run every morning _was_ a challenge.

"I had gone to check on him, but he wouldn't wake up." She frowned. "It wasn't right, Milord, and I was going to get a medkit." Dooku glanced around the room and saw the small medkit on the floor where they had found his maid, cursing himself for his single-mindedness and not noticing it earlier.

Force inhibitors. Dooku was working to keep from snarling. He'd suffered the indignation only once and firmly believed no Jedi deserved that horrid feeling of being cut off from the constant companion a Jedi always had. Whether the kidnappers knew they'd used a Force inhibitor or not remained to be seen. Whether the kidnappers knew Dooku and his grandsons were _Jedi_ remained to be seen, as people of Zeltrax did associate Anakin's "loss braid" with Jedi.

No wonder Obi-Wan had felt something. The boy's Padawan was suddenly no longer there in his mind, especially given how strong their bond was. It was why, even now as he calmly spoke with Tori, Kenobi was tense and searching, reaching, for any sign in the Force.

That would make finding him more difficult until whatever drug they used had worn off.

Dayu massaged her forehead. "I don't remember anything after that."

Dooku reached out and patted her lightly on the shoulder. "Don't worry," he said quietly. "We'll be getting my grandson back."

Standing, Dooku went over to Obi-Wan and motioned for Benaag to look after Dayu. The butler nodded, ever the professional, and went to the maid's side.

Obi-Wan looked over. "Sullustran. You can tell by their dewflaps."

Dooku nodded. "And the Human?"

"Average height, muscular build, incredibly pale-skinned, I'd say albino, but he was apparently bald and poor Tori couldn't see any eyebrows or such from the pantry."

"Speaking of the pantry," Dooku said, looking to his cook. He paused, taking a deep breath and controlling the exhale. "I suspect from what Dayu has mentioned that our kidnappers might have gotten into your kitchen. Anakin might have been drugged."

Obi-Wan sucked in a breath beside him before a wave of emotion was sent out to the Force, relief that Anakin was still alive.

Tori, meanwhile, went from weeping to a towering inferno. "Someone used _my_ kitchen! To take Master Anakin! Unacceptable!" She stormed out, crying depreciations on any who would use her domain as such and promising epitaphs of severe pain for all the food she was about to throw out as untrustworthy.

Mesagog, meanwhile, was on his comm.

"Dooku, young Obi-Wan," he said, putting it away. "I've called in the descriptions to our officer force. We should hear back from them within the hour."

Both Jedi nodded.

* * *

During that hour, rather than pace back and forth irritably, Dooku set Obi-Wan through his paces with the diamond-based sword. Because the blade wasn't energy, it took several swings to get used to the weight and momentum and remembering to compensate for it, especially with the precision of Soresu. Plus, Obi-Wan hadn't quite built back all the muscle from having both arms broken, so there was a great deal of stretching and limbering that Dooku guided him through. Mesagog watched from the wall, a blaster at his hip and a dura-staff by his side from a call to his own manor and having a servant deliver them.

Dooku hadn't known that Mesagog was capable with the staff, and wondered, briefly, if maybe he should offer to spar at some future date. Dooku did some exercises as well for limbering up. The physical activity helped Dooku bury his emotions so that they weren't so close to bubbling and boiling over. It was an exercise he hadn't had to do since he was a young Padawan. Or since Qui-Gon was going through his moody teenage phase, to be more precise.

With his feelings properly buried so that he might release them later, he talked with Mesagog while they waited for the officer force to contact them, planning for possible outcomes. Mesagog, conservative as he was, wished for the officers to handle whatever they found. Dooku flatly denied, saying that he wouldn't trust his grandson to _anyone_ else. Mesagog didn't hesitate to point out that waiting behind the officer's likely lines would ensure that Dooku was still there for Anakin, but Dooku scoffed it aside.

"I do thank you for your concern," Dooku said, standing up from his stretch. "But both Obi-Wan and I are hardly weaklings. We are both competent and capable."

Mesagog braced Dooku's arm in a friendly way. "My friend, you're strength of will in what you believe in is a quality I wish more people around the galaxy might bare."

Dooku gave a warm grin. "My son would have called it just plain old stubbornness. And I'm afraid it's passed down."

Obi-Wan snorted behind him.

The lights flickered, but remained off. The sun had completely set and the lightmites were the only source of illumination not battery powered outside.

Dooku wished to be crawling the spaceport himself, but the time hadn't quite allowed him to look at things with some distance. Obi-Wan's tension was clearly easing as the hour went on, meaning that whatever drug had been given to Anakin was being quickly metabolized. Soon Obi-Wan would be the one guiding them, once they could figure out how to do so without Mesagog getting suspicious.

"Milord," Benaag came in, a small hologram comm in his hand.

Dooku straightened himself and hid his swords, both the one he'd use and the one he intended for Anakin, behind his coattails. "Officer," he greeted. "Have you any word on my grandson?"

"_Yes, Count Dooku_," the officer gave a respectful bow. "_We have reports of only one Sullustran in our local spaceport here. We've followed him to a remote storage facility and are organizing a raid now. You needn't worry. You'll have your grandson back by morning._"

"Thank you, officer," Dooku replied with a polite bow, cutting off the transmission.

"Grandfather?"

"Come, Obi-Wan. There's only one storage facility at the spaceport isolated enough for the privacy needed to keep our young Anakin and have nobody hear."

Obi-Wan gave a quiet chuckle and followed. Mesagog gave an amused shake of his head and trailed along after them.

* * *

**Author's Notes**: So we've reached the halfway mark (or over, given that it's seven parts). There's really not much to say. We've had emphasis placed on what we wanted, from Dooku's dreams with Qui-Gon pointint out things, the color of the room where they talk, Dooku burying feelings instead of releasing, Dooku realizing that Ani is a mini-Dooku and not a mini-Qui-Gon, Dooku referring to Ani and Obi by name instead of by their surnames, etc, etc.

Of course, there's a specific reason behind the kidnapping, but we'll get to that more in the finale. ^_^

Hope you've enjoyed!


	5. Chapter 5

**Part Five**

The ride to the spaceport was tense. Mesagog's face was set and neutral, his reptilian features never having allowed for much expression, but his wide jaw was tight and his taloned hands gripped the steering hard. Dooku and Obi-Wan were in the back, Obi-Wan with an intense look of concentration, arms folded tightly in front of him, eyes far away - likely focused on his Padawan. As for Dooku, he kept his eyes closed, breathing deeply and slowly, determined to keep a lid on his ever-expanding emotions. He didn't know what it was about these two that always left him struggling to put away his feelings.

But, if he was completely honest with himself, he knew _exactly_ why. And he was in utterly no frame of mind to deal with it; and so he suppressed it once again as Mesagog's high-end hovercar slowed to a stop, a small swirl of dust billowing from the exhaust before the engines cut and the machine landed.

The spaceport was the largest one of the planet, but compared to other planets it was modest to the extreme. The northwest corner held the storage facilities, and only the one on the absolute northwest, the least used because of its distance from the rest of the port, was the likely location. Security had already set up a perimeter, their speeders parked but not blinking lights, hoping to avoid tipping off the kidnappers.

All three stepped out - three noblemen in finery made for a conspicuous combination as one of the security officers, a human, stepped up in his tailored uniform and held up a hand. "My lords," he said quickly, "It is not necessary for you to be here."

Dooku stepped up, a pillar of gentility wrapped in anger. "I am Count Dooku of the Reefside Province; my grandson is there, and I intend to retrieve him."

The security officer shook his head, taking a wider stance. "A minor lord from a backwater province on the west continent holds no sway here, 'my lord'," the security officer said, haughty authority in his voice. "Please let us do our jobs."

Mesagog stepped forward, his dura-staff tightly gripped in his fist. "I am Count Mesagog of the city of Einjel Grove in Nighlok Province, _sir_, and _my_ province is here on the central continent and of much higher stature, since you find that important."

The human eyed Mesagog, clearly impressed, but shook his head again. "It is security's job, my lord," he said, placating; his voice held far less contempt. "The Council makes it clear that family cannot be part of any retrieval, it is too personal, and judgment is impaired. It holds true for friends of the family, my lord. I cannot in good faith let you pass."

Mesagog stood ramrod straight, the colors along his occular ridge brightening to show his displeasure, and Dooku was very seriously considering striking the hurdle down, but to both the noblemen's surprise, Obi-Wan stepped forward.

"Please, sir," Obi-Wan said, his hand flicking slightly. "He is my brother. Let us pass." Dooku's eyes widened when he felt the pulse in the Force. A mind-trick? _Here_, on Zeltrax? But Obi-Wan kept talking. "I cannot lose him. Don't you have family?"

The security officer's eyes glazed slightly as he muttered, "Your brother..."

"Let us pass. We will bother no one."

"... You may go," the officer said, his gaze far away, before he shook it off. "But bother no one," he added, his color returning. He stepped aside, and though Obi-Wan blew by the other two stared in wonder. "_Go,_" he said, "before I change my mind."

Dooku and Mesagog exchanged a brief glance before darting after Obi-Wan. "You must tell me more about your son," Mesagog said, his gold eyes bright.

"Suffice to say he was a handful," Dooku said, a soft grin on his face, "And it would appear his sons take after him."

"Reminds me of my daughter," Mesagog said, his voice wistful. Dooku glanced at the reptilian but put the thought away, there was too much going on for him to process it all, and he knew he would be spending hours meditating after all this. _Hours_.

The pair quickly caught up with Obi-Wan, the Jedi knelt by a collection of crates, his eyes closed and brow pulled tightly together in focus. With a deep breath**,** his eyes snapped open and he ran a hand through his thick red hair. He stood and ducked through a narrow hallway, Dooku and Mesagog following, taking a left and then a right before coming to a complete stop.

"The main hanger is beyond this door," Obi-Wan said. "I imagine there are more than just the two that Tori described, there had to be a separate team to cut the power to the city, plus lookouts for the house. Assuming five members per team there must be ten men down there, plus Anakin."

Dooku nodded, accepting the analysis. Mesagog's coloring was brightening again, and his jaw moved faster than normal as he asked, "How would you know this?"

Obi-Wan gave a long, measured gaze to the Count before answering: "I read."

Dooku did not hide his snort and patted his reptilian companion on the arm. "He is making my library quite diverse," he muttered, hoping that was enough of a cover. With Mesagog here neither of them could use the Force overtly. Obi-Wan was already stretching things with that brilliant mind-trick earlier, subtle enough and complex enough that it almost seemed like a natural change of opinion. Following Anakin's Force-presence may not need explaining as yet, and if it did any number of excuses could be made for Obi-Wan's seemingly intimate knowledge of the layout of spaceport storage facilities, but now there was no question. They were about to _fight_. He leveled a meaningful look at Obi-Wan, and he held it, nodding his head in understanding, expressing with his eyes that he would not break Dooku's cover.

Nodding, he looked to Mesagog. "How well do you fight?" he asked in a whisper.

"Well enough," the reptilian said, his gold eyes bright with pride. "And if all else fails, there is the blaster; even if it is... uncivilized."

"These barbarians are hardly civilized for even considering kidnapping," Dooku added, his hand gripping the door. "I suppose it's only fair that they receive a similar comeuppance."

He took a moment. Took a breath. And opened the door.

They spilled out onto an upper catwalk of the main hanger. The lights were low, splashing small halos of light on the floor from above, casting most of the wide-open space in black shadows. There were very few storage units; the heavy footfalls of spacer boots echoed in the cavernous chamber and distorting the source of the sound. One of the circles of light held five men with blasters and rifles, one pacing and making the deep echoes in the hangar.

"When do we send the ransom note?" one of them asked, his voice also echoing but barely heard over the heavy footfalls.

The Sullustran, one of the kidnappers, gave a response in his native tongue.

"I don't like the waiting," a third said, sitting on a crate. "Don't know what the point of this is."

"The point is we're getting paid."

The Sullustran spoke, too, apparently agreeing. Another person, a Twi'lek it looked like, bent down and poked at a collection of cloth. Anakin, most likely. The albino was nowhere in sight, and if Obi-Wan's estimates were correct; half the band of brigands were about the shadows, likely patrolling the perimeter. Not amateurs then, obviously professionals. A glance at Obi-Wan and Mesagog in the dim light showed they had come to the same conclusion.

Weary of the echoes of the hanger, Dooku used his tightest whisper to speak. "Surprise is our greatest advantage. Two of us will see to the lookouts, the other will confront the guards." Blue and gold eyes nodded in assent. "I will confront the brigands."

Obi-Wan immediately spoke up. "No. I will go. My sword style is more effective in direct confrontation like this, I'll last longer."

Dooku leveled dark eyes to the boy, patience at an end. "This isn't about 'lasting,' youngling," he said in a tight voice. "This is about _conquering_. You presume too much if you assume I'm going to go in there, saber swinging. You clearly haven't learned as much from your father as I thought. You are not yet fully recovered, and so it will be _me._" He turned to Mesagog, face intent, but the reptilian nodded, and so Dooku stood, letting his senses out to the Force to find a stairwell - one couldn't simply leap over the catwalk - and marched off.

When he was halfway there he stopped hiding his movements and instead allowed his footfalls to be obvious. He could hear the echoing clatter of startled dregs readying weapons, but he walked under one of the lights and stopped, perhaps ten meters away from the five obvious kidnappers, and waited.

The Sullustran said something, but Dooku was a Count on the planet, and so said, "At least have the decency to speak Basic. Your vulgar language is offensive."

The human with the heavy boots stepped forward. "He wants to know why you're here."

"I am here to collect what is mine."

"You the boss, then?"

"No, I'm the Count you thought you could kidnap from. In under two hours I have uncovered your location, surrounded it with security, and informed public channels that you are brigands to be blacklisted from this planet." They didn't need to know the last part was a lie; and instead Dooku offered an imperious grin. "And I am not the most powerful man on this planet."

The Sullustran started talking again, a low whispered tone to the Twi'lek guarding Anakin. Dooku could feel the boy's pulse in the Force, the youngling was awake and aware, but pretending otherwise; his curious surges of Force grated on Dooku's sense of delicacy, but all the same he sent a focused probe to the boy, impressing the word _"wait"_ upon him. Anakin startled, jumping slightly under rough cloth he was cloaked in. No one noticed, not even the Twi'lek.

Elsewhere, Dooku could feel Obi-Wan's tense Force-presence, flitting about the upper catwalks on silent boots and sneaking up on the dimmer presences of the other kidnappers. Two were already down and he was making his way to a third. Mesagog was on the ground level, several meters behind and skulking about, one man having already fallen to his staff. All Dooku had to do was stall, then it would be three on five - four, if Anakin was purged of most of the Force-suppressants, and if he could fight without breaking Dooku's cover. He did not rely on that - not yet, at least, but he was determined to make himself rely on Anakin over something, to do something to show that boy that trust could be meted out, carefully and to a select few, and be rewarded for it. He would _not_ see another child forced through circumstances similar to his own.

The man in the heavy spacer boots threw several meaningful looks to his compatriots, before turning to speak again.

"You're one old man, yer lordship," he said, a haughty grin on his face. "Even if what you say's true, we got five men here, an' more in the shadows."

Dooku nodded sagely, as if the man's facts were relevant, even important. "That is true, perhaps, but you fail to understand the gravity of your situation."

"I think we understand 'gravity' pretty well," the spokesman said, the pun lacing his words.

Dooku put on a mocking air of surprise. "Then you know that gravity is a natural phenomenon by which physical bodies attract with a force proportional to their mass."

The five kidnappers openly frowned, not expecting such a literal translation. Dooku held in his smirk and continued. Mesagog had found his second man on the ground and was dealing with him; Obi-Wan needed more time. "Perhaps, as spacers, as _foreigners_, you fail to understand the significance of gravity in other than the most physical of terms. Of course gravity is an impressive force when studying planetary, even galactic movement, but it has an equally important meaning in living relationships.

"Think about what gravity means: Gravitation causes dispersed matter to coalesce, and coalesced matter to remain intact; it is coalesced matter that creates planets and suns and other galactic phenomena. But the term 'matter' is relative, because matter is everything: planets, trees, gardens, transports, and most importantly, _people_. The dispersed matter of my dead son, Qui-Gon, for example, has coalesced into three people. One of them is that boy you dare to take; the other is I. By definition then, gravity forces us to remain intact, and your attempt to break our gravitational pull will destroy the galaxy."

"You're crazy."

"No," Dooku said, resolve, determination, and absolute clarity filling his voice, "for the first time in years things make sense. Qui-Gon lives on in those two boys; and frankly speaking, gentlemen, I'll be damned if I let you take either of them away from me."

"Them's fighting words," the Twi'lek said.

Dooku drew his sword and held his Makashi stance. "As you wish," he said simply.

Three blasters rose as one, the Twi'lek and the Sullustran moving to grab Anakin. Dooku send the clean pulse of _"now,"_ and young Anakin jerked into motion even as Obi-Wan, up on the catwalks somewhere, found a power panel and flooded the hangar with light. The momentary blindness affected the brigands but not Dooku, as he dashed forward and thrust his sword at one of the kidnappers. The blade sank deep into the man's gut, blood spilling everywhere in a distasteful splatter before the man retreated backward. Holding his wound with one hand and firing his blaster with abandon with the other. Dooku, for his part, sank himself into the Force as much as he dared, fully aware that Mesagog was throwing in on the fight as well, his dura-staff making heavy wooshing sounds as he ploughed into one of the brigands. The false Count was slightly faster, slightly more agile, but not at all like a _Jedi_, and because of that he pressed his assault, knowing that his age would eventually have to take over and determined not to let it at an inopportune moment. So he put forth three steps, swirling around his current opponent, before landing a blow with a flick of his wrist, cutting the hand holding the blaster.

It was not deep enough to make the opponent drop it, however, and Dooku quickly darted back as he brigand swung his arm to fire - brazen and hasty, and therefore easy to dodge. He deflected one bolt outright, and cursed that he had done that - deflection of blaster bolts was a particularly Jedi trick and he had not spent the last seven months distancing himself from the Jedi for this assignment to forget it in the middle of a duel. He backed up slightly, analyzing his options.

He was at a disadvantage in this fight: he had to hide his true abilities; Form II was meant for _duels_, not uncivilized _blasters_; he had to reserve using the Force more than he already was. It would be far better to end this quickly; there was still a third man to defeat before handling the two aliens carting Anakin off to parts unknown. Taking a deep breath, Dooku darted in again, his footwork precise as he moved into a classic feint that the kidnapper fell for, and used that to his advantage as he swung his sword into a more aggressive strike, this time a jab to the shoulder that was effective enough to render the opponent's arm inert. The limb dropped uselessly to the side and Dooku was about to deliver a final strike when a blaster bolt struck as his shoulder, surprising him and ruining his step.

A quick glance showed the third man holding a rifle instead of a blaster, and Dooku was quickly on the defensive, unable to block blaster bolts in sight of Mesagog and hard pressed to regardless because of Form II's lack of efficiency on multiple opponents. His retreat gave his original opponent the chance to switch hands, and his work up to that point was undone as he began firing again, leaving Dooku to run and dive for cover.

Mesagog joined him behind one of the few storage crates as a barrage of fire hailed down on them, also forced back because of the impressive firepower of the rifle.

"This is a tremendous blow to my pride," Mesagog growled, his ocular ridge bright with color. His talons gripped his blaster and with a sigh, he lifted himself up to aim and fire.

"At least you were able to fell one of the brigands." A barrage of fire overtook them, and for several seconds both simply hunkered down and waited. "If we get out of this," Dooku said, hissing as he pressed and arm to his shoulder wound. "No one need know of this embarrassment."

"I've always enjoyed how you think, my lord," Mesagog said, his jaw wider than normal in an appreciative grin, moving to fire again. "When this is over we must endeavor to speak more often."

"Share war stories, perhaps," Dooku offered, collecting himself. "Cover me," he ordered, and Mesagog fired a third time, a steady barrage that had decent aim as Dooku flew forward and towards the two kidnappers. He had lost sight of the Sullustran and the Twi'lek, and that worried him, but he could feel Obi-Wan's presence in the Force, and Anakin's, too, and knew they had not gotten far. With that in mind he focused on the man with the rifle, using a quick thrust, feint, and then strike to cut the weapon in half with his saber before pressing forward in his footwork to push in a more aggressive slash at the arm - it would have been severed if it had been a lightsaber, but he satisfied himself with the much uglier cut right to the bone, blood grotesquely flying everywhere and instead advancing on the man he had already injured previously.

Panicking, the opponent was firing wildly, not even close to Dooku, and when he was ready to step in and strike Mesagog gave a perfect hit on the man's shoulder, now leaving both his arms inert, and Dooku punched him dead in the mouth, sending the kidnapper spinning to the ground.

Shaking out his fist before rubbing his injured shoulder, he turned to the reptilian. "It would appear that we make a fine team," he said.

"So it would," the reptilian agreed, his gold eyes bright. "Shall we find the last of the braggarts?"

"Of course. After you."

They both paused a moment, ears open, to gain a hint of where to go. Dooku could sense the necessary direction but could not openly say so, and so he looked to his fellow Count and waited for his more acute hearing to pick up the necessary noise. A faint crashing noise erupted from somewhere, echoing off the cavernous hanger and making it difficult to discern, but the reptilian's hearing could, and he pointed in the correct direction. Dooku nodded and the two darted off to the north end of the massive hangar.

Dooku marveled that his compatriot had stuck around this long, and he dimly recalled the reptilian mentioning a daughter. He wondered at the story, and knew he would have to ruminate on many things when this was over. The fallout for this could take _days_; to say nothing of the effect it would have on his cover. That thought made him growl, and Mesagog apparently heard it, saying,

"Don't worry, friend. I'm certain your grandsons are holding their own. They take after you, after all."

Dooku did not correct him, and instead lead the charge up an extended set of spiral stairs to an upper level. He paused to catch his breath, cursing his age and his self-imposed restriction on using the Force. Mesagog waited patiently, even though he was almost two hundred-fifty years old he was only middle-aged by his species standards.

Carefully they entered a different part of the hangar, likely the main control room. The ceilings were slightly above standard height, and there were some corridors, a collection of offices, perhaps, to maintain the control room. Dooku allowed Mesagog to take the lead again, the reptilian's dura-staff gripped tightly in his claws as he gracefully navigated the hallways, pausing momentarily to listen, before making another turn, getting closer and closer to the Force signatures of Dooku's grandPadawans.

"One move and I'll blast the brat!"

They both froze, thinking they were caught, but for Obi-Wan's voice.

"Anakin, stay still."

"I'm kidnapped! I don't wanna stay still!"

"You're only making things worse."

"Worse! How could it possible get any worse?"

Dooku and Mesagog crouched down, creeping closer to the exchange - scratch that, closer to the argument - and eventually paused on either side of a door. Glancing past it to the room inside, Dooku could see a spacious layout that indicated an executive's office, likely for the manager of the storage facility or carryover for any corporate mogul using the space between flights. Inside Anakin struggled in the grip of the short Sullustran, the Twi'lek having a blaster in both fists, one pointed at the boy and the other pointed at Obi-Wan. Both were ignoring the perpetrators vehemently in favor of their argument. Mesagog saw this and turned confused golden eyes to Dooku, who could only shrug in reply. He had no idea what they were doing, and was hesitant to interrupt at an inopportune moment.

Obi-Wan heaved a great, weary, sigh. "I swear, Anakin, the way trouble seems to find you..."

The boy gave a shriek of indignation. "So you're saying this is _my_ fault? That I _caused_ this kidnapping or something? Are you _stupid_?"

"I didn't _say_ that-"

"You might as well have!"

"Don't go blaming me when I'm trying to save you!"

"And a fine job you're doing of it! I'm still in the bad guys' clutches!"

The Twi'lek snarled. "And I _will_-"

"_You stay out of this!_" both boys shouted.

" 'Clutches'? Who uses such an outdated term anymore?"

"You do with all those stupid adventure novels you read!"

"Like you haven't read every book I ever brought home and whined for more."

"Whine! I do _not_ whine!"

"You are right now, aren't you?"

"That's entirely beside the point! I'm kidnapped, remember?"

"And what a great inconvenience it is."

"Then why don't you _do_ something about it!"

And Dooku could _feel_ the grin in the Force.

"If I must, I must," Obi-Wan drawled, his diamond-edged sword flicking out with incredible speed, a classic Shi-Cho slash that had enough power to cut off one of the Twi'lek's arms above the wrist. The scream of pain was coupled with Anakin, struggling constantly up to this point, suddenly going utterly limp, making himself utter deadweight to the Sullustran holding him and distracting him enough for Dooku to burst into the room and throw his saber, the sword landing deep in the alien's chest and killing him instantly. Obi-Wan spun around, placing himself in front of Anakin, and blocking a blaster strike from the one-armed Twi'lek before Mesagog swooped in, his dura-staff thunking the alien hard on the head.

For a brief moment, there was silence, save for the occasional sound of breathing.

Then Anakin dashed forward and tackled Obi-Wan in a fierce embrace, and Obi-Wan was quick to kneel down and accept it. Anakin mumbled into Obi-Wan's chest, the other into his hair, before Dooku felt a soft pulse in the Force, likely from Obi-Wan, and the two parted.

"You three look terrible!" Anakin said, his voice a little shaky.

Dooku paused, looking at the party finery that he, Mesagog, and Obi-Wan were wearing, now torn and dirty, bloody and unkempt. They were indeed quite the sight. He gave a delicate shrug.

"Even nobles cannot remain dignified all the time."

Mesagog gave out a feral laugh. "It was an honor to fight beside you, my Lord," he said formally, his lower jaw undulating.

"The honor was mine, to have such a skilled _friend_ by my side," Dooku said, taking a chance and offering the intimate title.

Golden eyes smiled at him, and somehow Dooku knew that his place in Councilor Bridge's inner circle was secure. He smiled, too, and he could not name the list of reasons why he did.

Zeltrax security had burst in, of course, as soon as they heard blaster fire, and were greatly embarrassed that three nobles had worked faster than they to subdue the targets. But, as nobles, the three of them remained dutifully humble and not the slightest bit smug.

That honor was left entirely to Anakin, who was not shy at all about singing the praises of all three of them to any who would listen, a wide-eye preteen rescued by his family.

Dooku refused treatment for any of them, explaining to Mesagog that he held his own maid Dayu in much higher regard than any overworked hospital mouthpiece, and the reptilian nodded, once again impressed, and once more offered to drive them home in his expensive hovercar. Obi-Wan expressed minor concern about ruining the interior with their bedraggled appearance, but Mesagog was too close to the family now to allow that kind of barrier, and Dooku explained such to his grandPadawans on the way back, patiently going over (again) the layers of formality and how one slowly transcends them to levels of deeper intimacy and explaining that often fighting in battle cut through many of those layers.

That conversation went right over Anakin's head, of course, but Obi-Wan, too, seemed to be only half-listening, both were holding each other tightly and often giving meaningful glances at each other, coupled with vibrant pulses in the Force that told Dooku they were reconnecting after a trying experience. He looked to Mesagog, and they both shared a look of understanding and let the conversation die.

Dayu, naturally, nearly had a fit when they four of them returned.

"What kind of idiot noble goes off into battle without having the intelligence to be _careful_! No consideration whatever to the people who have to clean up after you, no thought to the laborious task of stitching that shoulder closed! No inkling to the worry! The fear! The concern! I thought you were better than that, milord! I want a bonus for this! Don't you believe in hospitals?"

"Wait, wait, 'stitches'?" Anakin looked up, wide-eyed, as Dooku slowly stripped off his layers of finery to reveal the blaster wound to his shoulder. The child glared at the wound, and Dooku could feel a painful spinning in the Force around the boy's signature before he shouted, "Stupid old man!" and disappeared from the drawing room and presumably upstairs to his quarters. Obi-Wan offered an apologetic look, saying his goodbyes to Mesagog before following after his Padawan.

Mesagog, for his part, took it all in stride, and put a three-talon hand on Dooku's good shoulder. "They just lost their father," he said, "I expect this brought up unresolved emotions."

Dooku nodded, the motion hurting now that he didn't have adrenaline to stave off the pain of the blaster shot. "I suspect we will have much to talk about in the morning. Or perhaps the afternoon at this point," he corrected, looking out at the lightening night sky. "Benaag," he said.

"Yes, milord."

"Perhaps this goes without saying, but cancel my meetings for tomorrow - today - and tomorrow as well. Also, call Trip at the service to pick up Lord Mesagog up. I imagine he is exhausted and I hardly expect him to drive home after the favor he's done us."

"Your generosity is hardly necessary, Dooku," Mesagog said his name with no title, proof that they were friends now. "But I graciously accept. I'll likely be spending much of trip making calls of my own. When the dust has settled, we must talk."

Dooku missed the undercurrent at first, tired as he was, but he nodded and said, simply, "Yes."

In twenty minutes an open-mouthed Trip appeared, staring at Dooku as he was being stitched up and looking at the equally bedraggled Mesagog as she escorted him out to the speeders. At Dooku's request she had arranged a small, armed escort, in honor of the recent adventure and a gesture to Mesagog on how highly he was valued as a friend, and when the reptilian left the false Count finally relaxed.

Dayu continued to reprimand him, muttering about pay and expectations and hazard bonuses and hospitals. He tolerated it as much as he could, but in the end he was simply too tired to deal with it. "The reason I go to no hospital, Miss Dayu," he said curtly, "is because your care is far superior to theirs."

That left her gaping for the rest of the treatment, and once the bacta patch was in place he excused her and all but fell into bed.

* * *

The next day started at noon. Dooku woke unbelievably stiff and sore, and spent easily an hour stretching and pulling his overworked muscles back to shape before he felt he could walk with even a fraction of his usual grace. Leaving his chamber, he debated at first where to go, but decided not to impose himself on whatever Obi-Wan and Anakin shared together. The three of them needed to talk, but for the first time the Count found himself hesitant to intrude. The bond those two shared was incredibly strong, and in a very quiet corner of his mind he was jealous of the closeness. He had wished for a bond that deep with Qui-Gon - space knew the man had a proclivity towards it - but at the time he had kept his distance, and now he regretted it. He found he could not intrude on his two grandPadawans in that frame of mind, and so he instead went to his office to distract himself until he was mentally prepared for the imminent conversation he was going to have with those two boys.

The report to the Jedi was decidedly _not_ going to be written just yet, and so he instead began writing letters to the people in the inner circle he had constructed for himself, a brief and appropriately worded explanation of the previous night's activities with apologies for canceled appointments and suggestions for further contact. He also drafted a more intimate letter to Count Mesagog, expressing his gratitude once more and offering his own assistance should circumstances ever reverse themselves. Councilor Bridge needed a draft, too, but as he began working through the intricate social network of platitudes and connections to see if he could afford to address her differently, the door opened and Benaag stepped in.

"Your new schedule, sir," the butler said stiffly. "Also, Tori wants you to know the children are up and that brunch, for lack of a better term, would be ready soon."

"I understand. Thank you," Dooku said.

"Milord..."

He looked up. "Yes?"

Benaag's face was completely smooth, lacking in any emotional content, but Dooku could sense Benaag's feeling acutely all the same.

"Milord..." he started again. "It is good that your most recent endeavor was successful."

Dooku nodded. "I am, as well. I wouldn't dream of leaving you with such a mess to clean up."

And Benaag smiled. "Will that be all?"

"Yes, Mr. Benaag. That will be all."

"Yes, milord."

Dooku put his papers down and headed toward what was sure to be a tense brunch.

The staff had already eaten, and for that Dooku was thankful. Nothing happened, at first; they just sat and ate. Dooku was biding his time, he did not wish to disrespect Tori's magnificent cooking by letting it get cold, and he would admit privately to himself that it was another means to stall. The Force was undulating between Obi-Wan and Anakin; why the Count did not know, the emotions were too complicated. But waiting, of course, was not young Skywalker's strong point, and at last he looked up from his meal.

"How do you know Qui-Gon?" he asked, utterly serious.

Dooku gave a deliberate gaze to the doorway and the ears of a passerby. "He was my son. Suffice to say, I spent years with him. We will talk more in my office."

"No, I want to talk _now_."

"Anakin," Obi-Wan said softly, his blue eyes locked on Dooku. "This must be a private conversation."

Irritation filled the boy. "How's here any different than his stupid office?"

Dooku's first reaction was irritation that the boy _never listened_, but he schooled that emotion in favor of the fact that he wanted to keep the boy complacent until their conversation truly started. So he explained, "Protocol of the help," before getting up and taking his plate. "Benaag," he said, and the butler swiftly arrived.

"Yes, milord?"

"My grandsons and I will be finish our meal in my office. We will be having a private conversation and are not to be bothered."

"Yes, milord."

"Forward calls to my desk and I'll take them when I can."

"Yes, milord."

"Thank you."

And Benaag departed.

"Come," he said to his grandPadawans. "We have much to discuss." He started moving without waiting for them to get up and follow, instead making the short journey to his tasteful office. The swords were back in their place, but his still had a few traces of blood on it. Dayu would have to clean it later. A petal from the dying bouquet fell to his desk as he sat down, and Dooku suddenly wondered if Qui-Gon would listen to this conversation. He reproached himself for believing in his dreams.

Taking his seat, he gestured for the boys to do the same. Anakin grabbed a chair and boldly placed it behind Dooku's desk, removing the traditional barrier.

"Anakin..."

"No, if we're really going to talk about how he knows Qui-Gon, we're going to talk as equals. As _Jedi_."

The arrogance of the statement irritated and amused Dooku at once, and he let the latter control as he nodded his head. "As you wish," he said simply. Obi-Wan seemed surprised that someone allowed the defiance, but grabbed a chair and did the same, sitting next to Anakin.

"Now, _how_ do you know Master Qui-Gon?" the youngling demanded. "Obi-Wan said you said he takes after him and you said in the storage hanger that the three of us were the coalesced matter of Qui-Gon and it wasn't a lie you really believed it but that makes absolutely _no sense_ unless you knew him but if you knew him _we_ would know about it or at least _Obi-Wan_ would know about it and he _doesn't_ so you didn't but you did and it's all so stupid!"

Dooku leveled a steady gaze at the boy, serious and contemplative, communicating with his eyes and his presence the gravity of what he was about to say. The irony did not escape him.

"He was my Padawan," he stated simply, and waited.

Anakin of course made the more obvious reaction. His entire face slacked in shock and he sucked in an audible gasp. Obi-Wan's reaction was more subtle, but infinitely more powerful. His eyes widened slightly, but his color faded slightly as he visibly recalled every memory of his dead master he had to verify the sentence.

"He never spoke of you," he said slowly, frowning. Hesitant.

"I would have been surprised if he did," Dooku replied. "His apprenticeship was... trying, on both our parts. I had only just become a Jedi when I met him, my twenty-two to his twelve. I was impressed with his potential, and I was young and arrogant enough to think I knew what it took to raise a Padawan." He leaned back in his chair, slightly, settling in for a long story. "Qui-Gon rather successfully taught me otherwise. He was stubborn, shortsighted, irritating, and so ensorcelled by the Living Force that he could not pay attention for more than three minutes at any given time. He was always dragging home injured animals or digging in the Temple gardens, missions often took twice or thrice as long has he became sidetracked on some pathetic lifeform or other and I had to drag him, kicking and screaming, back to the point of the mission. I have never had such an abomination of an apprentice such as him."

Dooku smiled. Softly. Wistfully. "He was the best apprentice I ever had."

Then, sadly, "He was the only one close to me that never betrayed me."

He waited again, watching the two boys in front of him. He had never, _never,_ talked about this; not to anyone, not even Master Yoda or Chancellor Palpatine. This was a gambit, trusting these two younglings that he barely knew with this sentiment. He wondered, distantly, if Qui-Gon would be proud.

Obi-Wan asked first. "You've suffered betrayal before?"

Dooku breathed deeply through his nose, interlacing his fingers in his lap. "A more accurate question perhaps is when I have _not_ suffered betrayal. A friend as a Padawan, my best friend as an adult, a Padawan I had after Qui-Gon, even the very Senate that we serve. I know that emotional connections will only end in pain, perhaps better than anyone in the Order, and I understand why attachments are so dangerous to a Jedi."

Anakin frowned, hunching his shoulders and looking away. Dooku glared at the boy until he paid attention again - this was too important for the boy to shut down so early on.

"Qui-Gon was the exact opposite in that respect; he made connections left and right, without thought or care, and had a knack for burrowing his way into even the most distant of hearts. Now, with him gone..." He blinked, rapidly, before he could gain control of himself. "I wish I had allowed that bond to be deeper."

Silence settled over them. Long, heavy, deep.

Then,

"Do I really take after Qui-Gon?"

Dooku hadn't expected Obi-Wan to talk first, the young man was so collected and put-together and quietly thoughtful that Dooku had assumed he would just absorb all the information like a Jedi. For perhaps the first time, he realized that Obi-Wan was more than just a Jedi, more than just Qui-Gon's Padawan, and he remembered one of his dreams. _"He has a decidedly small sense of self-worth, and that is my fault."_ Dooku uncharacteristically made a snap decision.

"You are everything that was good about Qui-Gon," he said deliberately, slightly heatedly. "You are competent and proficient, talented, remarkably diplomatic, and open to the Living Force when it confronts you." He watched as the redhead turned slightly pink, hidden in part by his goatee, and look down, the picture of an abashed man. The humility made Dooku press the point. "Force only knows what he did during your apprenticeship to make you doubt that, but know that you more than followed his example and do his memory credit. He would be proud of you."

"So... then... you were serious?" Anakin asked. "When you were talking about gravity and coalesced matter?"

Dooku fixed his gaze on the youngling. "Yes."

"So... dying... it doesn't..."

Dooku frowned, uncertain where the boy was going. He remembered the spinning sensation around the boy the previous night when young Anakin had learned he was injured, and the pressing hug the boy threw at Obi-Wan once he was safe. Did he fear death? Why?

" 'There is not death, there is the Force'," he quoted.

"But that's just stupid," Anakin said, startling Obi-Wan from his deeper thoughts. "Death is stronger than the Force. Even _stars_ die, Obi-Wan said so, and when you're dead you're _dead_! You're gone, and you're never seen again, and it just _hurts_. I don't _want_ people to die."

"Anakin..."

But Dooku held up a hand, preventing Obi-Wan from interrupting.

"So were you serious? About coalesced matter?"

Dooku peered at the boy, his gaze piercing as he sized up what the child was talking about. Finally, however, he took a deep breath through is nose and started speaking about theory.

"What is a thought?"

Of course the boy didn't understand at first. "... What?"

"What is a thought?"

"I don't know; a thought is... just a thought."

Found late, indeed. "A thought, at its most basic level," Dooku explained, "is when a neuron or collection of neurons in the brain respond to stimuli. The response is a chemical reaction, and thereby creates energy. The energy is then transferred to whatever action the thought generated, a blink of the eye, perhaps, or a change in regulation of the heart rate. Those are physical manifestations of thoughts, but thoughts are of course more complicated than maintaining our bodies. For example, the scent of a particular dish may bring about memories of childhood. The energy for those thoughts are transferred to memory and do not leave the brain. Working through a test, also, transfers energy mostly in the brain as one works through a problem. The energy of thoughts can also be transferred to others - for example, Obi-Wan and I thought very seriously of rescuing you, and the energy of those thoughts transferred to our actions, and the energy of our actions transferred to you, because you were, in fact, rescued. Our thoughts were transferred, ultimately, to you. For a Jedi, however, there is something else in the brain besides neurons."

"Midi-chlorians," Anakin supplied.

"Yes. How do _they_ affect thoughts?"

"... I don't know?"

Dooku frowned, deciding to back up. "Energy cannot be created or destroyed, do you know that?" Anakin nodded. "Then energy is always going somewhere. Where do the energy of thoughts go? All the energy Obi-Wan expends in teaching you, where is that transferred to?"

"... Me?"

"Very good. You, then, are affected by the energy Obi-Wan has spent on you, the same way he is affected by the energy spent by Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon's energy, his thoughts, his nature, is passed on because of this energy transfer. He is gone, now, and can no longer transfer his thoughts." Dooku kept his dreams to himself. _That_ was something he wouldn't dare mention until he could actually bring himself to _believe_ that it was real. "Qui-Gon's body may be dead, and while his spirit is scattered to the far ends of the Force, all the energy he transferred in his life is still in the galaxy, transferring from one place to another. That is when gravity comes into play."

Anakin's eyes doubled in size as it all suddenly clicked in his head in a classic "ah-ha!" moment. "Qui-Gon: his thoughts, his energy, gravity makes them coalesce in you and me and Obi-Wan!"

"Yes."

"And the Force, the midi-chlorians, they heighten the experience because Qui-Gon's spirit is _in_ the Force! That's why I can sometimes _feel_ Qui-Gon!"

... What?

"It's all 'cause he's living on in all of us, so even if someone dies... There is no death! It all makes sense now, this is great!"

Anakin burst from his seat, a bright smile on his face as his Padawan braid swished back and forth. "I thought you were just some stupid old man," he said brightly, making Dooku wince slightly. "But you really know what you're talking about, and you're my grandfather for _real_! That's just so... wizard!"

And without warning Dooku was hugged tightly, a shock of pain in his shoulder enveloped in a warm shining hum of the Force, before Anakin pulled back. The boy hugged Obi-Wan, too, perhaps for good measure, before taking his seat again and demanding to know everything there was to know about Qui-Gon. For the rest of the afternoon, Dooku and Obi-Wan shared stories about the man, anecdotes and adventures and lessons and complaints, everyone discovering something new about Qui-Gon. Everyone living through the memory of Qui-Gon.

It took Dooku a long time to realize that, for the first time in years, he was smiling.

* * *

**Author's Notes**: At last a little action. Always a good way to grab reader attention. ^_^ Dooku working at only a percentage of his true strength and still kicking ass. Mwahahaha. We also have a nice bonding piece at the end. Really, the chapter speaks for itself. Given the research we did into how thoughts work and energy transfers and such, we hope the idea of gravity and coalesced matter came across clearly.

Now that Dooku has connected with Obi and Ani, we need to have some sweet bonding scenes.

About review replies, some of you may have noticed last week that we didn't do them like we normally do. That's because, for some reason, fanfiction . net isn't sending them to our email any more, which is how we always did the replies before. We thought we hadn't gotten any reviews. Turns out that this was untrue and we need to poke around and figure out why our email isn't getting reviews any more. Hmmmm. Sorry about that.

Hope you enjoyed! See you next week.


	6. Chapter 6

**Part Six**

Dooku was a practitioner and advocate of the Living Force. He saw a problem and sought to fix it. The Unifying Force, the visions of past and future, had a time and place, it was what connected all. But the Living Force was what demanded attention as it was always pointing things out and seeking possible changes. The Living Force guided connections, sought harmony and balance, and pulled one to where one needed to be. The Unifying Force brought knowledge, overarching themes of when, and insight. Dooku respected and used the Unifying Force when he could, but ultimately it was the Living Force that always guided his hand.

It was why when he found himself dreaming of Qui-Gon again that he doubted it was anything more than a dream. He didn't have enough connection with the Unifying Force to give him such dreams or visions.

But he was once again in that colorless room, darker than ever before, with the effervescently glowing blue form of Qui-Gon, and Dooku couldn't help but wonder if the Unifying Force was trying to tell him something.

"Ah, I see you're starting to believe in me," Qui-Gon smiled.

Dooku just shook his head. Best to let this play out however it would play out. He would meditate on it later.

Qui-Gon shook his head sadly. "It seems, my old master, that you're putting too many things off until 'later'."

"Oh?"

His deceased Padawan said nothing, merely glanced around the very dark room. "I will say, however, you finally made a step in the right direction."

Dooku scoffed. "I wasn't aware I was going in the wrong direction. And the wrong direction with what?"

"You've finally acknowledged those Padawans of mine as yours as well." Qui-Gon's eyes danced with amusement. "And your description of coalesced matter was positively inspired. Why didn't I get such deep and motivating speeches when I was your apprentice?"

"You wouldn't have listened," Dooku replied with a nostalgic smile. "If it wasn't in the immediate, you put on your selective hearing."

"Hmmm. True. I do wonder how you turned me into such a successful Knight. Looking back I must have been such a handful."

Dooku snorted, not bothering to dignify that with a response. "Besides," he added quietly. "I lacked the wisdom. I wonder how I made you successful as well. I was so naïve back then."

"To both of our benefits," Qui-Gon said softly.

They sat together a moment, in mutual reflection.

Qui-Gon looked to Dooku then, absolutely beaming. "That little speech also loosened the hold of the other influence on young Anakin a fair bit. And you didn't even realize what you were doing. Face it, my old master, you're _good_."

Dooku raised a dark brow. "You give me credit for something I don't understand. I never realized that you lost your direct approach in your old age, instead taking up riddles."

He got a hearty laugh in response. "If I died in my old age, you must be ancient."

Dooku shrugged, not caring about how many decades he'd lived.

Qui-Gon's smile remained warm. "I never cared much for riddles and still don't. But there is a limit."

The Jedi master scoffed. "Meaning my brain hasn't processed something yet."

"And we're back to denying what you're seeing." Qui-Gon sat back with a frustrated sigh that reminded Dooku far too much of when this man was a petulant teenager.

They sat in silence again before Dooku attempted to change the subject. "So I've done something right, yet this room is darker than the last time."

Qui-Gon nodded, his eyes piercing Dooku's with a heavy seriousness. "You're burying. Not releasing."

Dooku frowned.

"Many things have stirred up in you, my dear old master, particularly with my Padawans. But you're waiting to deal with it and you're going to explode if you don't start dealing with it _now_."

"There is no emotion."

"But there is no peace. Not in you."

"But-"

"I'm sorry," Qui-Gon said quietly as his glowing form started to fade. "Until you release, I cannot visit you again..."

"_Qui-Gon_!"

* * *

Dooku reached out, some instinct he didn't recognize and couldn't control, and merely grasped air as he sat up in bed panting.

The morning was spent staring out his window, watching the sunrise in brilliant pinks and purples, then golds and blues. It was glorious by any standard, and yet he could only feel darkness. Dooku had not realized how deeply Qui-Gon's dreams had touched him until his dead Padawan had announced without preamble he wouldn't be visiting again. It was like he had lost him a second time, and the hurt Dooku felt was unimaginable. Worse, the HoloNet declared the fourth trial of Qui-Gon's killers had been acquitted, once more the Nemoidians that had set it all in motion walking free.

The galaxy was a dark, dark place when injustices like this were a matter of course. Corruption seemed to be everywhere: in the Senate, in the Judiciary, in Security. Had the galaxy ever suffered such negativity before? Dooku wondered, as he often did these days, if all those old prophecies about the Dark Times were coming true.

He sighed, looking out to the sunrise, and wondered if the times were darkening or if it was just him.

No, it was the times. The death of Qui-Gon was merely the latest in a long series of signs.

Perhaps the debacle at Galidraan had been the first. Or had it started even earlier?

Was he a fool to not see it until now?

His quasi-meditation was interrupted as Benaag called for breakfast, and Dooku allowed himself a dark growl before turning from the window and going downstairs. He let the boys, Obi-Wan and Anakin, lead the conversation with the staff; Anakin and old Anton getting into a heated debate about the finer points of some racetrack on Coruscant, while Benaag and Dayu expressed their desire to do a _thorough_ cleaning of the house after the violation of the kidnapping had defaced the very nature of their home.

Shortly afterward Benaag recited the schedule for the day. He had just finished when the main gate buzzed, and the butler quickly called up the security feed to see who was dropping by unannounced.

Councilor Bridge was on the viewscreen, resplendent in a shimmering green frock, her honey curls cascading over one of her shoulders. Beside her was Lord Mesagog.

"See them in, Mr. Benaag," Dooku said quickly, "And see that we are not disturbed."

"Yes, milord," the butler said, nodding in understanding. "We'll enlist your grandsons to help us with the house."

"Aw," Anakin muttered.

Within ten minutes Dooku was in his office, looking at his sword display, and turning to see Councilor Bridge striding into the room, Mesagog at her heels.

"You're all right!" she said brightly. "You really are all right!" She swept her arms open and pulled him into a tight hug. It was not short enough for Dooku to avoid feeling every curve of her tastefully covered body, and she showered him with a bright smile when she looked up to him. He was surprised to see a shiny glisten in her eyes.

"I am sorry to have caused you such concern," he said quickly, offering her and her companion a seat.

"When Mesagog told me the story..." she started, wiping at an eye with a look of annoyance. "These are dark days indeed when such villainy comes even to our own planet!"

Her words echoed Dooku's own black musings that morning, and his face darkened considerably when he answered, "Villainy seems to be found everywhere."

Bridge nodded sagely. "You should see some of the reports that come across my desk these days; this generation of teenagers seem to have turned into nothing but hooligans, so many of them simply leave the planet, much like your dearly beloved son, and are lost to the corruption inherent in the Republic. My own cousin left when I was a child, and he died not a year later."

Dooku blinked, having never known that piece of information, and realized that Bridge was sharing with him a private moment, and invitation to make him a part of her inner circle. Excitement snapped through him but he quickly suppressed it, instead leaning further back in his seat. "My own son, at least," he said slowly, softly, "I could understand. He lived in a much larger world than the rest of us, and Zeltrax was simply too small for him. That he lived as happy a life as he seemed to... I feel that I am happy for him." His eyes misted, thinking about his dream, and he worked to put it away. "But he would have been so much safer here, on Zeltrax. I can only hope that I can protect his sons as I could not protect him."

Bridge nodded, something in her face changing slightly, and her eyes warmed. "You are a good man, Count Dooku, and I was remiss to not see it earlier."

"Our most defining moments, it seems," Mesagog said, his gold eyes bright, slightly far away, "are often our most private." He looked away. Bridge reached over and placed a hand on his claws, a look of deep understanding on her face. Dooku realized there were still some boundaries he had yet to cross, and he waited, knowing now was not the time to press. He also realized that Mesagog was much closer to Bridge than he had initially suspected, and was now glad that he had fostered a friendship with him.

"Some moments, at least, can be shared with others," he said slowly, carefully. "Such as your extraordinary assistance in the rescue. I am deeply indebted to you, and offer my services, limited though they are, to you whenever you are in need."

Bridge and Mesagog exchanged a long gaze at each other, before the reptilian nodded and Bridge turned back to Dooku.

"I now consider you a deep friend, Dooku," she said, her voice formal even if the lack of title was decidedly not. "There are some private functions coming up in the next few weeks that I would like to personally invite you to. I know you do not consider yourself fit to be a politician, but I think your views on the world and on the galaxy would be highly valued."

Dooku could not believe this was happening so quickly. He allowed himself a small grin, hiding the self-satisfaction and instead showing only honored humility. "If you think it best, I would be most happy to oblige."

"Excellent," Bridge said, leaning back in her seat, a hand reaching up to play with the curls on her shoulder. "With the formalities taken care of, I'd much rather get to the real reason for the visit. I would very much like to see the health of those two boys. When Mesagog explained the plight you suffered I was so dreadfully worried. It was all I could do to wait as long as I did before making a call."

"Of course," Dooku nodded. "I'm sure they'd be more than happy to talk with you and-"

The door burst open, quite unexpectedly, and a cylindrical cleaning droid charged into the room. Perched on it was young Anakin, hastily fiddling with an open panel of wiring, sparks flying everywhere, before the droid spun around several times and ran out of the room. Several curses could be heard over the noise of the droid, followed almost immediately with a resounding crash.

All three shared a look before instantly getting up and following the latest string of curses.

"Anakin, I _told_ you no tinkering!"

"I was only trying to help!"

"The floors, the _floors_! Look at all the scratches! The entire hallway needs to be sanded down and re-stained because of this! I'm not _paid_ enough for these inconveniences!"

"Miss Dayu, please calm down, I'm sure-"

"Augh! The _carpets!_"

"Tie that boy up _right now_! I don't care if he _is_ the young master; _no one_ is going to _touch_ any of these droids until I call a mechanic and get them fixed!"

"I understand-"

"You're not really going to tie me up, are you, Obi-Wan?"

"Just come with me Anakin, we can help-"

"I am perfectly capable of handling my chores with peak efficiency and do not need further assistance, young masters."

"... I see, Mr. Benaag."

"You can get better efficiency if you only alter the brush speed of the static duster droid by three percent, _and_ you can use this new synthetic material I found on the HoloNet to-"

"Good day, young masters. I will clean the... mess."

"But I-"

"_Good day_, young masters."

Dooku intervened: "Consider this your first lesson in the art of integration," he said slowly to Anakin. The boy looked up, startled, but Obi-Wan only turned calmly, clearly having felt his approach. Another lesson to teach the boy, while the pair were here. The sudden thought of them leaving once the Jedi had collected them left him feeling... wanting, but he pushed the thought aside. "There is a difference in wishing to help out and brazenly showing off one's skills. Especially if there is an overestimation in such. It is always better to downplay, to be invisible, until the time is right. You knew to do that before," he added, referring to the kidnapping, "but it appears you need to learn it applies to all aspects of life."

Anakin gauged Dooku slowly, his eyes narrow, before puffing up. "But I'm not meant to be invisible!" he said proudly.

This boy...!

Bridge burst out laughing, a bell-like sound, and Dooku found a much more wistful look on the reptilian Mesagog's face. The planet councilor looked in askance to Dooku before stepping forward and running her hands through the boy's cropped hair; then she touched her forehead to his. "Enjoy these days of youth," she said softly, "Enjoy the confidence and the certainty of the future. They'll be ripped from you all too soon."

Anakin's face darkened, but all he said was, "Yes, my Councilor," in a soft mumble.

She stood to her full height. "And you, young master Obi-Wan? How do you fair after this trying ordeal?"

The young redhead nodded politely. "Maintaining equilibrium, my Councilor, and more than relieved that Anakin is all right."

The bright smile on Bridge's face turned wistful, like Mesagog's. "Such good children. Seeing you makes me wish I had them when I had the chance."

Another personal detail. Dooku could not believe the amount of trust she was giving them. He felt obliged to return it.

"You both are more than welcome to stay for lunch. You can view the gardens behind the house; my gardener does exquisite work."

Bridge perked immediately, turning around quickly enough that her honey-brown curls swished to the other shoulder. "That is such a generous offer, my Lord," she said brightly.

"Hardly generous," Dooku said politely, "I would be rather selfishly imposing myself into good conversation. It would also be good training for the boys, they still have much to learn about their home planet, and who better to learn it from than a planetary councilor and one of the highest lords on the central continent?"

"Wait, so you're powerful?" Anakin asked, looking up to the reptilian. "More powerful than the rest of the nobility?"

Mesagog put a three-taloned hand on the preteen's head, patting it. Anakin scowled at the childish gesture but otherwise said nothing, and the reptilian nodded. "Rumor has it I do very well for myself."

* * *

And that was how it started. Dooku lead them on a leisurely stroll to the back gardens and away from Benaag and Dayu as they worked to clean the house. Dooku saw Tori watching from a window and nodded to her that there would be two extra guests for lunch, and then began showing them the flower garden that Anton had been sculpting as the summer seasons began. The sun was already very high in the sky and warmed everyone, making the beds of color more opulent. They talked about planetary politics, sharing views and respect for their culture and loathing for the Republic.

"Rumor has it things have only gotten worse since Senator Goldar was elected," Bridge said. "I do not wish to speak ill of a fellow politician, but his manner is downright duplicitous. Look at the debut you had arranged for your grandsons, a private affair and yet he arrived without invitation to... what? Remind everyone that he was important? Look for new blood for his administration? You must forgive me but I do not like him."

"Your first point is rather interesting," Obi-Wan said. "You imply that politicians here are not - to use your phrase - 'duplicitous.' Inexperienced as I am in the ways of politics, I've yet to find a politician that _isn't_ duplicitous, if you'll forgive my assumption."

"_Padme_ isn't duplicitous," Anakin said hotly.

"... 'Padme'?" Bridge asked.

"She's the Queen of Naboo," Anakin said, puffing up in pride again. "She fought off the Trade Federation and-"

"And my brother has had a crush on her ever since he saw her on the HoloNet," Obi-Wan cut in quickly. "The invasion by the Trade Federation was covered very intensely on our old planet, and Queen Amidala made a very strong impression whenever she was on camera."

Councilor Bridge frowned. Deeply. "When was this?" she asked.

"Three years ago."

Dooku watched intently as the woman frowned even more, a delicate hand rising to her chin. Mesagog, too, frowned as much as his reptilian features would allow.

"What happened?" she asked, slowly.

Obi-Wan took a deep breath. "As I understand it, some new taxation on trade routes had been passed in the Senate, and the Trade Federation sought to make a point by creating a blockade around Naboo. Not only did they create a blockade, but apparently they also invaded the planet and occupied it for a short time, kidnapping the ruling council and sending Queen Amidala fleeing to the Senate. She was able to return to her planet and stage a coup; the Viceroy of the Trade Federation was arrested. The story must have lasted three weeks or so."

Bridge and Mesagog stared, slightly poleaxed, at the brief recitation of events, before the middle-aged councilor gave a great huff. "I cannot believe this, I simply _cannot_ believe this! We knew nothing of this."

Obi-Wan blinked, and Dooku took a measured step back, the Force pulsing that he wait and listen. "The galaxy is very large, my Councilor, it can hardly be expected of you to know of _all_ the stories going on at any one time."

Bridge shook her head. "That is true, young lord, but I _looked_. I remember when Senator Goldar posted the new taxation laws, and I knew, I _knew_ that the giant monopolies like the Trade Federation or the others would protest. I combed the HoloNet daily because I thought there would be a protest or a strike or a boycott, and yet I _never_ learned of this." She started pacing in the gardens, her airy frock swishing back and forth. "How could the HoloNet fail like this?"

Dooku saw his opening.

"It is most likely because the HoloNet is no longer an independent information network," he suggested, rubbing his beard as if in deep thought. "I've long suspected that the HoloNet is controlled, either by the Senate or a conglomerate such as the Trade Federation or the Commerce Guild or the Banking Clans, and through them they disseminate the information they _want_ us to know. Our entire sector is very private, we do not share our information willingly unless parties earn our trust, and it is entirely possible that whomever controls the HoloNet decided to return the favor."

"Distasteful," Mesagog muttered. "Uncivilized."

"I agree," Dooku said, nodding his head sagely and continuing to play his part. "I had suspected it for a long time, but with no proof I had no desire to say anything. This seems to be consummate evidence that _someone_ in the galaxy wishes to control information. That is disturbing on the most fundamental level."

"Something must be done," Councilor Bridge said, her face still frowning fiercely. "Perhaps I should make note of it to Senator Goldar. Loathe him though I may, he might have information that could help us understand better what is happening with public communications. Suffice to say I do not trust the HoloNet at this time to find the information."

Mesagog said nothing, giving a long, measured gaze to them both. Dooku sensed something, the slightest tremor in the Force, but it was gone before he could interpret its meaning.

"For now," the reptilian said, "there is nothing to be done. Perhaps we should turn to lighter topics of conversation to restore our hope in the galaxy."

"Agreed," Bridge said, smiling at her close friend. "Perhaps the children could tell us stories?"

"I'm not a child," Anakin muttered.

Their conversation was light after that.

* * *

Dooku leapt back into a flip and then back stepped. The move was more flashy and felt more Ataru than his preferred Makashi, but since Obi-Wan had the occasional Ataru flip or dodge, Dooku decided to incorporate it as well, as a family move passed down through Qui-Gon.

Given that Dooku's current sparing partner was Mesagog, it seemed the more prudent thing to do. The older reptilian repositioned his staff; his eyes twinkling in competitive spirit as he reassessed what Dooku could do with his advanced years.

Dooku had never imagined when he'd first arrived on Zeltrax of being able to spar like this. The natural levels of formality and protocol almost denied it, though Dooku knew there were competitions for those much younger than himself. When his grandPadawans arrived, Dooku had been too busy keeping a distance, being fascinated and not wishing to interfere in a Master/Padawan team when not invited. Though he had sparred with them, neither were truly at his level. Anakin was still just learning and Obi-Wan was still settling into a new style. Mesagog, however, was a _challenge_. His preference of the staff, a fresh perspective.

Dooku's days were filled with less time on his correspondences and intrigue, now that he had his grandPadawans and both Mesagog and Councilor Bridge were frequent visitors. His mornings were spent with Obi-Wan and Anakin, trying to catch the boy up on his studies. The afternoons often had either one or both of Mesagog and Bridge over, leaving Dooku playing host. The evenings were the only time the Jedi Master could reserve for maintaining his correspondences. Yet he found it... refreshing.

A small part of him wondered if this was how families normally worked. It was a fascinating concept and Dooku had certainly _seen_ and worked with many families in his various undercover assignments. He'd even posed as such a time or two when he was much younger with fellow Jedi. But the feeling of connection just wasn't there in that make-believe. This was... truer.

He pushed aside such thoughts, focusing instead on his spar with Mesagog. The staff came down and Dooku blocked, feeling the force of it ripple through his arms, so rather than resist, he flowed around it, sidestepping and jabbing at Mesagog's unprotected side. The reptilian was fast, however, and back-stepped, dodging and leaving the two circling once more.

Across the yard, Obi-Wan was putting Anakin through his paces, partly as exercise given that Obi-Wan finally was back up to strength and striving to get back to shape and partly because Anakin fumed that he hadn't been able to fight during his rescue.

Dooku tried to keep a partial eye on them, though Mesagog required a great deal of attention, and he noted Anakin's tendency towards angry swings. It was while he and Mesagog had locked weapons that he heard it.

"No Anakin, wrong footing!"

But the shout was too late. Dooku's youngest grandPadawan had walked right into a sharp strike from Obi-Wan and was now holding a shoulder carefully.

Mesagog and Dooku immediately disengaged and took off running and Anton, who had been working in a garden nearby, took off for the house to get Dayu.

"Anakin? Anakin, are you alright?" Obi-Wan was holding the boy carefully as Anakin silently tried to deal with the pain, reaching chaotically for the Force, but too embroiled in pain to do it correctly. "I'm sorry, Anakin," Obi-Wan continued. "I told you to watch your footing but you rushed in so fast and I'm sorry."

"Easy there," Mesagog put a hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder. "It was an accident. Settle down."

Obi-Wan frowned strongly, but said nothing and Dooku thought he caught some sort of feeling about a vow to not hurt Anakin filter through the Force, but he ignored it for the moment as Anakin was his primary concern.

"Don't hold it in," he said gently, taking Anakin's hand from the injured shoulder. "Holding it in seems brave and adult, but it just festers. Let go. You're safe here to express anything."

" 's weakness," Anakin hissed.

Dooku frowned. What sort of life did this child have to already know not to express any weaknesses?

"And who here would use your pain against you?"

Anakin just shook his head and Dooku thought he saw an image of a Hutt.

In that flash, Dooku suddenly understood that Anakin had not sat down to address and deal with anything that had happened in his life. Obi-Wan was young and still a fresh knight and master. He wouldn't have the insight to see this as a problem, but Dooku, who had decades of experience, saw how this could suddenly be an issue that Anakin would face for the entirety of his life. It needed to be dealt with, before it festered any further.

And Dooku's shoulders sank because Qui-Gon had told him the same thing. He needed to deal with his own issues, because he'd been burying them instead of releasing them, particularly since these two came into his life.

What a fool he'd been.

Dayu came rushing over, medkit in hand, and Dooku pulled away enough to let her in.

"Anakin, I need to teach you how to use a sword," he said firmly.

"Wha, what? But Obi-Wan's my teacher!"

"And he still will be. But you need _my_ style. It will help you with focus and control."

"Grandfather?" Obi-Wan asked.

"I'll explain later. For now," he lifted his grandson as Dayu kept fussing, "let's get Anakin to bed."

Once Anakin was settled, Mesagog pulled him aside. Obi-Wan stayed with his Padawan, and as Dooku walked away with his friend, he could already feel them slipping into a joint meditation to deal with the pain.

"Are you sure this is wise?" Mesagog asked. "Your style, what I've seen of it, is very focused yes, but I don't think that child is ready."

Dooku let out a long sigh. "He bears a great deal of anger and absolutely no control over it. My style, it will give him the tools necessary to deal with that anger."

Mesagog looked at him sadly. "And don't you think you should deal with your own anger before teaching him?"

"Qui-Gon," Dooku whispered, looking to the side. He knew that his form, focused as it was, had been sloppy against Mesagog and the reptilian was a good enough fighter to see it. It was partly why Dooku hadn't sparred much with his grandPadawans.

A taloned hand offered a comforting squeeze of his shoulder.

"Grief takes time," Mesagog said quietly, also lost in his thoughts.

"Your pardon, my friend," Dooku turned. "I think I, too, must retire for the day."

Mesagog gave an approving nod. "Take all the time you'll need."

* * *

Mornings were becoming decidedly difficult for Dooku, as he woke up with increased frustration each time that he had not seen Qui-Gon in a dream. Oh, it was irrational, he knew, but when dawn came he and stared at his ceiling he found himself wishing he was in that dark grey room, even if only to look at the ethereal form of his Padawan, to gaze at those young and laughing eyes and that ever-present smile. Without him... But it had been dreams, nothing more; rapid eye movement with enhanced cranial activity that was required for any and all living creatures. Qui-Gon hadn't really _been_ there, it was simply the neurons of his mind firing back and forth: garbage in, garbage out. If he had any kind of solid connection to the Unifying Force, he might think differently, but he _didn't_, so it _wasn't_. It _wasn't_ Qui-Gon reborn, and he was the fool to keep thinking on it. Dooku berated himself again as he pulled himself out of bed, lethargic because of his emotions and determined to shove it all aside and compose himself. He was on a mission, for star's sake, he could not afford to let his motions overrun him.

There was no emotion, there was peace.

_"But there is no peace. Not in you."_

No. He was fine.

He was _fine._

He was-

"Breakfast is ready, milord."

"Thank you, Mr. Benaag."

And Dooku took a deep breath, looking at the dim prospect of the morning, and left his room to join the others. By the time he had reached the dining hall he was once more the perfectly composed Jedi posing as a perfectly composed count of a minor continent. Nothing bothered him; nothing touched him; nothing-

"Morning, Grandpa!"

Anakin burst into the dining room, Obi-Wan close behind, and threw his arms around the count with such force that the two nearly tipped over before the boy wretched himself away and darted to the table.

"Good morning, grandfather," Obi-Wan said, much more sedate, before joining his brother.

And just like that his eyes burned and he was back to square one.

He took a deep breath and pushed it all away, trying to go back to the role he had to play.

The morning was spent locked up in his office, the decaying flowers on his table a vivid reminder of the period of mourning. Dooku ignored it in favor of instruction, both for Obi-Wan and Anakin.

"That's just stupid!"

Or trying to.

Anakin seemed determined to be just as difficult as Qui-Gon had been, set in his own ideas and certain his ideas were correct. This lead to deeper issues, Dooku was certain, and a glance at Obi-Wan always showed that he knew about it but had no idea how to confront it. Obi-Wan was currently trying to coax the boy around his claim with logic, but the boy was having one of his preteen mood swings, and was digging in his heels deeper than a cornered nerf.

"Tell me," Dooku said, "Why you must always be right?"

"Because I _am!_"

Dooku raised an eyebrow, and watched as Anakin, now slightly more pliant to his looks, shut his mouth and hunched forward, settling in for a lecture.

"Let me ask another way," Dooku said, leaning back in his chair. "Why must you defend your point of view, right or wrong, to such a bitter end?"

The boy said nothing, glaring at him.

Dooku pressed his focus onto the boy, determined to provoke something. "Why must you never show weakness?" he asked.

There it was: a picture of a Hutt, followed by a greasy Toydarian; the sensation of being struck, memories of children laughing, a pillar of anger and resentment. The sensations jumbled soon after, but Dooku had seen enough. "Who were they?" he asked.

"... Who?"

"The Hutt and the Toydarian."

The boy flinched, something he had never done before; whatever Dooku had expected, it had not been that reaction.

Obi-Wan, however, was more forthcoming. "The Toydarian goes by the name of Watto, he was Anakin's owner when we first discovered him. I suspect the Hutt was another owner."

"Obi-Wan," Anakin hissed.

"He may be able to help you where I cannot," Obi-Wan replied, "And space knows you need the help."

"_Obi-Wan!_"

"Anakin was a slave."

Something deep in Dooku had gone cold as he realized just why it had taken so long to discover young Anakin, and why the boy was so polluted with anger. Slavery? ... _Slavery?_ The Senate had failed again! That such an abomination was still practiced...! Dooku clenched his jaw very tightly; breathing slowly through his nose and struggling to shove his righteous fury aside in order to properly deal with the new wrinkle in young Anakin's training that had just been presented him. Another dried out petal fell from the mourning vase, and Dooku watched it flick to the table with burning eyes, Qui-Gon unexpectedly filling his mind. Of all the pathetic life forms to come upon! That man _enjoyed_ bothering Dooku even from beyond the pyre! The unmitigated cheek!

He shoved it all aside.

"I see," he said slowly, everything about him tightly controlled. "I suspect that his experiences have affected his psyche as well as his disposition."

"Yes, though how much of it is because of his experience or because he was taken late I'm not entirely certain."

"Percentages are irrelevant in this case, what's more important is undoing what damage we can. I'll ask for a few files from the Archives in my next transmission, I know there are some meditations designed specifically for younglings found in slavery. He will likely never fully recover from that kind of trauma, particularly if he was held by a Hutt, but some of his psyche can be saved, usually enough that he-"

"I'm in the _room_ you know!" young Anakin cut in, his eyes bright with anger. "And I'm not some broken hydrospanner! You make it sound like I can't be a Jedi because I was a slave, that's what everyone at the Temple said when they found out! I'm gonna prove you all wrong, just like Palpatine said!"

_That_ caused a screeching halt to Dooku's thoughts and plans. He turned to the child with a look of honest confusion.

"You know the Supreme Chancellor?"

"Of course I do," Anakin said, suddenly smug. "_He_ knows a lot more than _you_."

"I find that difficult to believe," Dooku said coolly, "Since when we first met _he_ was seeking _my_ council."

That stopped the boy right in his tracks. "Wait, _you_ know him too?"

Dooku smirked, only a hint of the smugness the boy had shown, but enough to make his point. "Since his first term as a senator," he said casually. "I was assigned a protection detail to him when a threat to his life as discovered. He calls me about twice a year or so."

Anakin openly blinked. "I thought _I_ was the only Jedi he liked to see."

"On the contrary," Dooku said, "He's been a stout supporter of Jedi ideals for many years - even when the Jedi themselves are not - and he is often in contact with the High Council."

"... 'Even when the Jedi themselves are not'... ?" Obi-Wan questioned, looking decidedly uncomfortable.

Ah, he _would_ be a supporter of the Council, overpowered by the Unifying Force as he was. Dooku had been, once, too; but as Qui-Gon's Padawan, Dooku would not leave the boy excluded just because he had proved to be as diluted as the Council. The Jedi Master steepled his fingers and crossed a leg over his knee, calculating how he could present his concerns about the Order without completely frightening the boy.

Anakin, however, beat him to it. "The Jedi don't do enough," he supplied, turning in his seat to look at his master in the eye. "I've been telling you that for forever, but Palpatine agrees with me. There are tons more people out there we can help but we don't, instead we just wait around for someone to ask for help. Everything gets all bogged down with procedures and arguments and nobody can make a decision because Yoda, the guy who's supposed to be in charge, doesn't make any decisions and just sits on his overstuffed _poodoo_ stool and meditates. The Jedi need a guy in charge who will make decisions. Like me!"

Obi-Wan openly blinked, his face pinched in disbelief. "Chancellor Palpatine... he's actually _told_ you this?"

"Yup! I'm destined for greatness! But that's only if you and the stupid council can ever lighten up and let me do what I want, because I _know_ what I'm doing and it's stupid that you keep dismissing all my ideas. If the _Supreme Chancellor_ knows how great I am, then the Jedi should, too, but they don't, and it's a sign that they're getting really corrupt."

"I... I can't believe I'm hearing this..." Obi-Wan said, his voice suddenly higher and tighter. "_Anakin_, how could you possibly think that I..."

"That you hold me back? Yes, I do."

Oh, dear.

"I am going to intercede before things deteriorate even further," Dooku said swiftly. "Anakin, I can tell you with the certainty of seventy years of experience that _no_, Obi-Wan is decidedly not holding you back. I have seen him teach you more than enough to know that he is doing exactly what he needs to, and that your thinking otherwise is only going to hurt you in the future. Obi-Wan, yes, the Order is suffering from some fundamental flaws, and I'm sorry that you've had to learn it this way. I can discuss the finer points with you later if you wish."

Chancellor Palpatine, he was deliberately left out of Dooku's small monologue. He had just learned something about his old friend that he had not known before, and he did not know how to interpret this new piece of information. Palpatine had always been a supporter of the Jedi, yes, but of specifically of the Jedi _ideals_, of going out and helping people, of doing what one must. As a senator he had always strived to give the Jedi work in spirit of that ideal, handing over missions and assignments more than any other senator in his terms. The two had not spoken much since his promotion to Supreme Chancellor, but that the man was so eagerly feeding this boy's ego was... disturbing. How did young Anakin even have access to the Supreme Chancellor - and moreover, why did Palpatine make time for it, enough that the boy felt comfortable not using titles. Just what was his old friend thinking? Planning?

... Was another betrayal looming over him?

He dared not ponder the consequences of that, and brutally shoved that fear aside. Later. That could be dealt with later. Instead, he continued.

"The point of this particular lesson," Dooku said, "Is that Anakin's experience with slavery is affecting his ability to learn." Palpatine's influence was decidedly not mentioned.

"But it's _my_ experience!"

"Yes," Dooku said, "And now you will learn to come to terms with it."

"I don't _need_ to come to terms with it."

"All things need to come to terms," Dooku said over the boy's voice. "Everything one experiences must be looked at, analyzed, accepted, and released to the Force. That you are holding on to your emotions is bad enough, but it is worse that the emotions you cherish are your _negative_ emotions, the ones associated with that Hutt and Toydarian, the fear and anger and resentment that it has left you. _That_ will lead you only to the Dark Side, and both Obi-Wan and I will be damned if we see you Fall."

Anakin held Dooku's gaze for several long moments, defiant, before his expression collapsed on itself.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked, resigned.

"Tell us every memory you have of your childhood. Starting with your earliest."

"What good will that do?"

"It will be a start," Dooku said. "Open your bond with Obi-Wan. He should feel every emotion you experience during your recitation."

"_What?_"

"Would you rather share such intimate feelings with me?" Dooku asked in a sardonic voice. He couldn't, of course, he didn't have a bond with the boy, not like Obi-Wan did, and frankly it would be a breach of protocol of the highest level to interfere with a Master-Padawan bond, not to mention an intrusion on their training. But Anakin didn't know that and, faced with a choice, he made the obvious decision.

"It will be alright Anakin," Obi-Wan said softly, closing his eyes and shifting immediately into a meditative state. Dooku could feel the pulse of the Force between the two as Anakin prepared, and Dooku sent a silent message to Benaag not to be disturbed until lunch, even by important callers.

For the next two hours, Anakin slowly described every memory he had as a slave; about the chips somewhere in his and his mother's bodies that could explode by remote detonation, of dim images of a Hutt and her unrepentant cruelty, of being gambled away like credits, of long miserable hours in a junk shop, of worrying over his mother's safety, of being laughed at and ridiculed and unable to do anything about it. All of it, in slow, halting, emotional tones that made Dooku loathe the outer rim and alien butchers. _Humans_ never lowered themselves to such barbarism.

Obi-Wan accepted all the imagery and emotive input calmly for the most part, save, for the fact that Dooku could sense, deeper down, swirling emotions of his own. They were buried too deep for Dooku to name them, but he caught a haunting memory of an offshore mining facility, and the pressing thought of _Will Qui-Gon find me?_ Obi-Wan, it seemed, had his own experiences with slavery.

"Share them," he ordered.

The sensation of reluctance was enormous, but slowly Obi-Wan began reciting his own time, kidnapped on Bandomeer by underlings of the then unknown Xanatos, of the collar around his neck and the work he'd had to endure.

Anakin's emotions roiled as he heard the story: surprise and resentment and anger and sympathy and understanding all crumpled together in a tight knot. His lack of self-mastery prevented Dooku from sorting them all out, but the need was ultimately moot as Anakin reached out suddenly and gripped Obi-Wan's hand, squeezing it and sending jumbled emotions through the bond. That sent the meditation into a very different direction, but it was not without its merit and Dooku withdrew from the meditation, letting the two boys bond as they needed. Empathy was the first step in understanding, and at last the hurdle had been cleared. Anakin's own problems still needed to be dealt with, but one major step had been taken.

* * *

Dooku looked over his messages and stepped out of his office, taking a datapad with him and setting up shop in the gardens behind the house. Benaag arrived with some reports, and the count informed him that his grandsons were not to be disturbed until lunch; the two needed the time together.

Once he was alone, he took a deep breath of the floral scents. "Qui-Gon," he muttered, "What am I going to do with those boys?"

But his old student would never be with him again, and he couldn't afford to grieve when there was still so much to do, and so he made himself put it away and look at his pad.

He still had work to do.

* * *

**Author's Notes**: Mwahahaha. Another step in loosening Sidious's grip on dear little Anakin and also making Dooku more weary of becoming an apprentice. Dooku is still disillusioned, but now he has a seed of doubt where the Supreme Chancellor is concerned. Amazing how one chance encounter changes everything, ne?

Poor Dooku. Qui-Gon's batted him over the head on what he needs to do but he's still not doing it, preferring to wait until the mission is done.

The next chapter is the finale. We'll have a little more action again and we'll see why Anakin got kidnapped in the first place (distraction) and Dooku will finally release things. In a way.

See you next week!


	7. Chapter 7

**Part Seven**

Dooku had given his staff a day off again. Mostly, his plans for the day involved sitting down with Obi-Wan and Anakin and continuing to show his youngest grandPadawan how to deal with the earliest years of his life and the scarring that had resulted from it. But first, there were some files he wanted from the Jedi library and he was due to send a report to the Council at any rate.

Obi-Wan and Anakin flanked him on either side as he activated his hidden comm. unit and contacted Coruscant. Mace Windu, it seemed, took the call immediately, even going so far as to interrupt Dooku's conversation with Master Jocasta Nu, head librarian.

"Master Windu," Dooku greeted. "I must say, this _is_ a surprise."

"_No doubt._"

"Master Windu," Obi-Wan bowed, as did Anakin.

"_My apologies for the interruption, but once I knew we had contact with you I needed to speak with you right away._"

"Of course."

"_Dooku, we have arranged for transport for both Knight Kenobi and Padawan Skywalker to return that won't be suspected by Zeltrax's more conservative nature_."

Something cold and painful pierced Dooku's heart, but he let nothing show. He didn't show how much having his grandPadawan's nearby was a comfort to him. He didn't show how he was only just _starting_ to get to know them and was greedily wishing to know more about them. He didn't show that he was going to _miss_ them terribly and how he already knew his life would be so much emptier once they were gone. He didn't show that he _dreaded_ how long he was going to still be on this assignment without his grandPadawans there to keep him on his toes and guessing.

He showed none of it.

He merely buried it deep down to be meditated on later, preferably once they were gone and, he supposed, he might have time to start releasing all these pent up feelings to the Force.

Maybe.

He just didn't want to _lose_ them.

"I see," he said instead. "And when should we expect this discreet transport to arrive?"

"_We've had it on standby, waiting for your next communiqué. Now that we've talked, it will be on the way within the hour. I'd imagine it will take a standard week._" Windu looked stoically at them. "_Have you been preparing an excuse that will be acceptable to the locals?_"

"Yes," Obi-Wan replied quietly with a slight bow. "We've been introduced here as Master Dooku's grandsons, having arrived after an accident where we lost our father. But while we've mentioned losing a mother, we haven't said that she's dead."

Dooku glanced behind him, surprised that a cover was already in place. But then, given how he'd neglected his two grandPadawans when they'd first arrived, it really shouldn't have been a surprise.

He'd wasted so much time.

"We will say that our mother has been found and we're off to save her. That when we 'lost her' it was because she was taken from us and sold into slavery."

Dooku worked not to frown at how frighteningly much of their actual history had been incorporated to their "cover" story.

Instead, he embellished on the story. "Once Knight Kenobi and Padawan Skywalker are off planet, I'll start making arrangements to go off-planet myself. I believe I'm close to a contact that will move me up the chain." Or so the Force was telling him.

"_Very good. It looks like everything is in order,_" Windu nodded. "_Kenobi, Skywalker, it will be good to have you back at the Temple._"

"Our thanks, Maser Windu," Obi-Wan replied.

"_Now Dooku,_" Windu started to continue, but Dooku was looking sharply off to the side, sensing an agitated presence coming up the drive quickly.

"It would seem we need to cut our conversation short," he said. "Someone is coming."

"_Understood._"

Dooku swiveled in his chair and started talking about the history of Zeltrax, Obi-Wan and Anakin already taking places as they usually did when they expected to be interrupted. Anakin sat on the floor and pulled out tools and started cleaning them. Obi-Wan reclined in a chair brought behind the desk and held a cup of tea, looking fascinated. All three of them tuned to the Force as the main door burst open and a voice called from the main hall.

"Dooku!"

"Hey," Anakin commented, "that's Mesagog!"

Dooku nodded, already standing and leading his grandPadawans out of the study.

"Dooku!"

"Mesagog!" Dooku called out, rushing down the stairs. "What happened?" This was breaking all manner of polite manners and even from up here he could feel the distress.

Agitated wasn't the word. Worried and confused and desperate. Dooku couldn't help but wonder what had pushed the reptilian so far as to be desperate, especially considering Mesagog's wealth and connections.

"My friend," Mesagog continued, meeting them halfway up the grand staircase. "I need your help. There is none other I can trust, _please_!"

"Of course, come with me."

The four of them went to the kitchen, Obi-Wan and Anakin rushing ahead to get drinks, Obi-Wan also thinking to get a good strong wine while Anakin bustled about with glassware.

Mesagog hesitated from the offered wine, before gulping it down and having another.

Desperate indeed. It was rolling off of him in undulating, spiking waves.

Against his better judgment, Dooku looked his reptilian friend in the eye and with a surge of the Force and a wave of his hand said, "Calm."

The noble reptile let out a long sigh, emotions still roiling but settling into a calmer pattern.

Gold eyes looked at Dooku sharply. "I was right. You truly are the only one who can help me."

"My friend," Dooku replied, "I will provide any help you need. You aided me in saving one of my grandsons. Please, what happened?"

Mesagog gave a dry, bitter chuckle, his jaw dropping before stretching forward and snapping shut. "Kidnapping, it seems, is the way of Zeltrax now."

Dooku stilled. "Oh?"

"My daughter. Someone now has my daughter."

Dooku and his "grandsons" blinked in unison as the thought settled in.

"Wait," Anakin blinked again, "I thought from all the stuff I heard that your daughter was dead?"

Mesagog barked out another ironic laugh. "Yes, that was the idea. I had no choice but to hide my daughter away." Dooku's friend looked him in the eye. "The same way your son had to leave. They both can touch the Force."

There was a sharp intake of breath. "How..."

Mesagog reached out, putting a clawed hand on Dooku's in a comforting manner. "I saw you reflect a blaster bolt back. You're good at hiding it, my dear friend, but sometimes you are just a touch _too_ insightful. And you can fight like a man two decades younger. The children won't see the difference, they'll still think an old man is fighting, but _I_ know. I've been around too long and sparred with far too many people of varying ages not to notice. It's why your son Qui-Gon left isn't it? He couldn't handle our restricting society or the prejudice we have against Force-users."

Dooku looked away, thinking of how many decades he'd gone without contacting Qui-Gon. The sorrow swelled at the loss again. "Something like that," was all he could say.

Mesagog nodded. "Your grandsons as well, if I was to wager."

"Yes, I've been trying to train them."

"That's how you knew your brother was in trouble," Mesagog turned to Obi-Wan, who could only nod silently in response.

"My daughter can touch the Force. We tried to keep it hidden. Back when she was born, over a century ago, a Jedi was on planet and I tried to subtly ask advice on how to raise a Force-sensitive child." Another smile of black humor. "He offered to bring my baby girl to the Temple. He didn't understand."

"We don't abandon family," Dooku agreed, looking to his grandsons.

"Correct. I tried. I truly tried. But she must be strong with the Force, because she could pick the thoughts out of me and my staff out so quickly and she didn't understand that she shouldn't say anything. She was just a toddler, my baby girl!" Mesagog ran a clawed hand over his browridge. "So I arranged for it to look like she had died. Moved her to one of my country estates. I visit as often as I can. I think she senses my love for her, or at least she's always happy to see me. And now she's _gone_."

Dooku covered Mesagog's claws with his own hand. "Give me and my grandsons some time to meditate. We'll find her."

The relief on Mesagog's face was palpable. "A moment first," he said, reaching into his jacket. "I received this."

It was a letter, the scripting precise, elegant, and almost showy. The wording, however, was as blunt as a spoon.

_Remove yourself from politics._

_There's no need for you._

_Do the consequences need to be stated?_

An uncharacteristic growl escaped Dooku's throat. "Using a beloved family member as _blackmail_?"

Mesagog nodded. "This has been planned for some time, I fear," he hissed. "When we went off to save young Anakin here, my estate was burgled. I'd thought nothing of it since my staff discovered it and chased off the ruffians, but apparently the scoundrels went through my papers. It's the only way anyone could have discovered my daughter's whereabouts."

Dooku was certain that the paper would burst into flame under his glare, so he closed his eyes to reign in the feeling. He was remembering all too well how it felt when he learned Anakin had been taken. He hadn't really dealt with it and it was being thrown back into his face.

Deep breath.

Without opening his eyes, he handed the letter to his elder grandson. "Obi-Wan, meditate on this letter, focus on who sent it and follow how the Force unifies us all to see if you can find out where Mesagog's daughter is."

That was as close as he could say that Obi-Wan's connection to the Unifying Force was the best chance without getting into just _how_ knowledgeable he was of the Force. Knowledgeable enough to be a Jedi.

Obi-Wan nodded.

"I'll help too!" Anakin declared. "Don't worry, we'll find her!" He quickly scampered off after Obi-Wan. Dooku knew that he was in no state to meditate at the moment; so instead, he stood and went to his study. Specifically his swords. They would need to be cleaned. Perhaps Anakin would get a chance to use one this time. It would be interesting to see how he did in true combat instead of sparring. Perhaps gauge how he was doing with his forms and kata and seeing where he needed improvements when in an unstructured setting. He'd need to stay close to his grandsons; he didn't want to lose them.

He'd lose them soon enough already.

Mesagog paced behind him, calmer after Dooku's Suggestion, but clearly still anxious. The reptilian noble settled heavily into a chair with a deep sigh as Dooku unsheathed all three swords on his desk and pulled out some cleaning solution.

"I must apologize, my friend," Mesagog said quietly, rubbing a browridge. "This must bring up some bad memories from when _your_ grandson was kidnapped."

Dooku said nothing, focusing and clearing his mind as he went through the careful process of cleaning each blade. There was a strong swirling of the Force in his grandsons' room, likely as they meditated on that ransom note. Dooku let out a long sigh of his own.

"I'm uncertain how much you know of the Force," he said quietly, stroking the blade he'd used when he'd headed off to rescue Anakin. "Many generations ago, one of my ancestors wrote a book about the Force. I doubt it was as good as whatever those Jedi teach in their Temple, but it seems the Force can run strong in my family. But over the centuries, those of us with the Talent, have studied it, added our own findings on it, things of that nature. My father last had to copy." Dooku looked at his reflection in the blade and flipped it to work on the other side.

"When he died, the book was lost to us."

Mesagog nodded. "He died in a fire, if I remember."

"Yes." Good to know the false history he'd made for himself still provided cover. "The book was with him. I was far too young. But I've tried to remember what I'd read of it, what my father taught me." And indeed, Yoda had been a good teacher. "But one of the important things, was meditation. Of releasing feelings to the Force instead of letting them fester." Dooku looked up. "It is not an easy thing, releasing certain feelings to the Force."

His friend looked down. "The loss of your son."

Dooku nodded. "My grandsons are actually faring better with that. But then, the younger are _supposed_ to fair better than us. It's why we let them take over."

Mesagog's laugh was sharp and short. "Indeed. But then, they've been through this before when they lost their mother."

Dooku paused, looking up to Mesagog's golden eyes. "In a manner of speaking. Their mother is, technically, still alive as far as we know."

Mesagog stilled, his anxiety halting as he looked to Dooku again. "Oh?"

He looked back to his swords and started polishing the next one. "They were on a transport, moving to a new world, when it was attacked by pirates. As Obi-Wan tells it, their mother was captured to be sold into slavery."

The normally composed Mesagog let out a low curse. "All the more reason for us to keep to ourselves. The creatures out there can be hideous."

Dooku merely nodded. "It's why I can't abide what's happened to you. Ignoring my own experience with Anakin being kidnapped, I've known loss for far too long. I simply won't let that happen to you. For all that I must release my feelings to the Force, they still fester inside me, striving to twist to something dark. I hold on to my grandsons and remind myself that there is still good out in this galaxy, and strive to keep doing good. The more we do, whether it's by rescuing a kidnapped family member or simply putting up a billboard to offer truth amongst lies, is the only way I won't let what's festering control me."

Mesagog nodded, seeing Dooku's hidden advice. "You needn't worry, my dear friend," he said quietly, his lower jaw barely moving. "I will stay with my daughter as long as it takes to make sure nothing festers. I will shower her with all the love she needs."

"Building something helps. Gardens, healing animals, things that are inherently good."

"She's always been fond of sewing. I'll make sure she starts making things for the disadvantaged."

Dooku nodded. Now if only he could do something for himself and his own festering emotions.

But there would be time for that later. After his grandsons had returned to Coruscant and he was once more solitary.

... By the Force he didn't want them to go.

"We got it!" Anakin came bursting in, holding a datapad high in his hand. "Well, Obi-Wan got an image and I was able to put it into a program I wrote to take descriptions and make images of them, and-"

"Anakin, just show them," Obi-Wan interrupted, following in at a more sedate pace. "It's the only image that came to mind during the meditation."

Mesagog, however, was stiff with tension; so much he was almost vibrating. Dooku stepped around his desk and looked over his friend's shoulder and immediately recognized the estate.

"Goldar," he growled.

* * *

Dooku was furious.

Scratch that.

Dooku was _beyond_ furious.

Zeltrax was a planet that had become xenophobic over the last thousand years because of atrocities done across the galaxy, Hutt slavery, merciless bounty hunters, unpunished violence, but most of all, Zeltrax withdrew from the galactic arena because of the _Republic_, because of their corruption, because they had been bought by others and endorsed lobbyists, because their words were different than their deeds, because they - like the Jedi - no longer represented what they stood for. Their seat at the Senate was a mouthpiece at best, lipservice to get certain key subsidies and tax breaks to keep their economy afloat and little else, and even now they wondered if it was even worth it.

In short, Senator Goldar's position of power was not going to last long.

And, instead of fighting for what was right in the Senate, instead of showing his people the honor the Republic was capable of, the reptilian senator had instead proven every fear the planet Zeltrax possessed. He was _just_ as corrupt and underhanded as the rest of the galaxy.

Kidnapping an innocent child _just_ to take a political enemy out of the arena.

So distasteful.

So... _uncivilized_.

And... and so like the Republic that Dooku had come to know that all he could do was growl, deep in his throat and vow that he would _change_ it, _all_ of it.

The four of them filed into Dooku's speeder, the boys in back and Mesagog in the passenger seat as the false Count gunned the engine and broke several speeding laws to get to the Senatorial Estate in the center of the city. It was agreed that security could not be brought in, there was no way to justify Mesagog's daughter being alive, let alone kidnapped or knowing where she was being held by a cursed vision of the Force.

The estate was the largest personal estate on the planet, no less than five separate wings, three floors apiece, with multiple dining halls and ballrooms for entertainment, and even a private theater, a dozen different gardens spread across the grounds, and other luxuries that were ostensibly for any guests and dignitaries of the Senator. There were no guards at the elaborate gates, and no security. All four of them knew that was a bad sign, and when they pulled up to the massive front portico, Obi-Wan muttered,

"This is a trap."

"Yes," Dooku said, drawing his sword.

"We know the policy on traps, right?" Anakin asked.

Dooku and Mesagog both turned to the boy curiously, and he only grinned. "Spring the trap."

"We are going to have an _extended_ conversation on war strategy when we return," Dooku muttered.

They entered the house with no one in sight, the immaculately decorated spacious foyer and grand staircase utterly empty. Dooku could sense no beings near them, and for a moment he closed his eyes, casting his senses out. Obi-Wan did the same, and almost simultaneously they pointed up the staircase. "This way," they said in unison.

The four trailed up the stairs, cautious, circling around and weary of any sign of danger. On the third floor they followed the pulses of two beings down the triple wide hallways, under glorious chandeliers and floor-to-ceiling windows. The day was overcast, grey, like Qui-Gon's room. The thought only made Dooku all the angrier and he struggled to suppress it. Partway through the central wing they paused by a doublewide set of double doors, likely an entrance to one of the many ballrooms. The false Count nodded to Obi-Wan, who nodded back. Even Anakin could sense the life beyond the doors, his face set in anticipation and determination. Mesagog's ocular ridge was brightly colored, blaster at his hip; he had not brought his dura-staff, but his tight jaw did nothing to hide teeth or his talons, he looked more like a predator than a noble.

One a soft pulse from the Force, Dooku opened the door and strode in, the others fanning out behind him.

The ballroom was enormous, easily capable of holding a thousand people comfortably, and every step echoed cavernously through the space. At the absolute far end, by the servants' entrance, stood Goldar; the reptilian was dressed dramatically in a rich red overcoat, matching his eyes, and held his unnecessary cane in one hand.

"Where is Elsa?" Mesagog demanded, his voice low and menacing.

"Elsa? The daughter that died a hundred years ago?" Goldar asked, his reptilian jaw managing a sneer.

Mesagog drew his blaster. "You're the only one who gains if I resign from politics, _my Senator_. Release her at once!"

"Release her? A Force sensitive child?" Goldar asked in mock surprise. "Just how would you expect her to be received? She would be shunned to the point of being forced to hide her again. Truly, there's not much point in my releasing her, is there? I've only substituted one gilded cage for another. You've hardly been honorable towards her."

Mesagog growled, stepping forward. "_Where is she?_"

Goldar snorted, looking away slightly before narrowing his gaze on Dooku. "And you, Master Dooku. I must say I was more than a little surprised to learn your origins. I wasn't even given the decency of a notice by the Chancellor; you can imagine the insult. I must ask, why are you here? Or is your association with my most powerful adversary answer enough?"

"You have committed a crime," Dooku said evenly. "You must answer to the consequence of your actions."

"Must I?" Goldar asked, thoroughly bemused. "You must be old indeed by human standards, if you think something as outdated as honor has any bearing on decisions these days."

"You're a senator!" Anakin accused. "You're supposed to represent your people!"

"No," Goldar said, red eyes narrowing at the child, staring at the braid. "I'm supposed to represent my party. Everything is about power these days, little Padawan." Dooku sucked in a breath, horror dawning on him. "If one is to survive in these tumultuous times, the only way to do it is to side with whoever is the most powerful. I've made my allegiances, and because of that I have been given quite a few guarantees, the first was my ensured election next term, but the most lucrative is access to certain persons who everybody thinks is deplorable but everybody uses anyway."

"I have never lowered myself to brigands, burglary, or _kidnapping_!" Mesagog hissed.

"And that is why you are weak, my Lord," Goldar replied. "So weak you don't even know how you are being used. It makes you pitiable, except you've done me so much harm by this point I have no pity for you. You consider the Count here your close friend, yes?"

Dooku took a menacing step forward, realizing the full extent of this trap.

"How long have you known him, now? Nine months? Where did he say he came from, Reefside, right? Did you ever check his credentials? I did as soon as I saw that little braid on the boy. The forgeries are quite good, I'll grant him that, but he was an idiot to let the boy keep the braid. The HoloNet is a marvelous system, and on it I found the directory of every active Jedi in service on Coruscant. Guess who I found there?"

"_You will_ _be silent_," Dooku growled, forcing his will at the reptilian that was ruining everything.

The senator reeled back as if struck, his cane clattering noisily to the ground and echoing off the expansive walls and ceiling. Staggering back, his back struck the wall and for a moment all Dooku's enemy could do was gasp.

Red eyes lifted up, and one taloned hand lifted up to show a remote, and the Living Force was roaring in his ears, and there was a deafening sound all around him, and then he was _falling through the floor._

Goldar, it appeared, was more than a little prepared to fight Jedi, and had planted explosives in the support structures of all three floors of the central wing of the estate. All four were suddenly plummeting dozens of meters down amidst the debris of the duracrete and marble electrical structure as it disintegrated. This was the final nail in Dooku's pyre, he reached out to the Force to save himself, Obi-Wan and Anakin doing the same, but also reaching out to save Mesagog, thereby showing more skill than any untrained or half trained Force-touched being had any right to have. As their progress slowed and the debris rushed past them, Dooku could see the wide gold eyes of shock, his entire cranium colored with emotion, as they finally landed amidst the rubble panting.

"Jedi..." the reptilian gasped. "You really are Jedi..."

"And that thrice-damned Senator will pay _dearly_ for sharing that one precious secret," Dooku promised, his eyes dark and the Force gathering around him in a thick cloud. Nine months of work gone in an instant. Here," he muttered, tossing his diamond sword to Mesagog. "You need a weapon more civilized than a blaster."

Reaching into his layers he pulled out his lightsaber, his most prized procession that never left his reach - even if he didn't use it when under cover. The blue light ignited. "Take care of Lord Mesagog," he ordered his boys, before touching the Force and leaping up the three floors to a few paltry support beams of the now destroyed ballroom.

Goldar was gone of course, but Dooku was not going to let that little detail stop him.

He was past all control now.

He was angry.

No, he was _furious_.

His cover had been blown, the mission was now defunct, Qui-Gon was no longer visiting him in dreams, and his _grandsons were leaving him_.

There was nothing more to say, and he powered his way to the servant's door and slashed it open with his 'saber. Anger rolled off him, making all the chandeliers above him shake and the windows rattle as he marched down a grandiose hallway, following the pulse of the Living Force. _Someone_ had to pay for his misery, and Goldar had made himself such a beautiful target.

It was now, of course, that the security Goldar had been holding off was called, and the halls flooded with armed personnel ready to handle the intruders.

A joke, really, Dooku reached out and with a sweep of a hand they all careened off to one side, through the windows and down three stories to their deaths. Everything was rattling, still, almost pounding in his ears to match the pulse of his anger as he pushed his way through the crowds of security. Some tried to fire their blasters, and while Form II was weak against multiple opponents and multiple blaster, Dooku did not let such a minor inconvenience stop him charging his way through the swath, going from one end to the other in less than four minutes with nary a scratch while everyone behind him sported some kind of injury or missing limb. From the central wing he made his way to the far west wing, avoiding ray shields and deflecting automated blaster bolts with his lightsaber and destroying anything or anyone that got in his path.

At last he came to a hallway of private quarters, and he burst into one of them with a pulse of the Force.

Goldar was there, his reptilian skin so pale it was almost translucent; Dooku could see the blue veins of blood vessels. In his grip was another reptilian, her eyes slightly larger, her coloring browner, and her ridges slightly smaller. Elsa, Mesagog's daughter.

"You are a Jedi," Goldar said, his voice cracked and panicked. "You won't harm an innocent."

"Innocent? ..._Innocent?_" Dooku raged, the room shaking with his shout. "You think you are so _innocent_? You who disavow the very duty of the Senate and then hold me to the duty of a Jedi? You can't have it both ways, _senator_!"

"I will kill her! I swear I will!"

"_I lost my Padawan!_ To hypocrites like you! Do you really think I will _spare_ you if you threaten a child who has done nothing other than be loved by her father?"

"She is cursed by the Force! She is an abomination! Just look as what you've done! What _she's_ capable of doing!"

"_Because of evil like you!_" Dooku roared, taking a menacing step forward. "You, who say one thing and do another, you who hold your own status above your duty to the people, you who accept and flourish in corruption, you who measure everything by monetary gain! It is people like you who created the Sith! The Sith created the Jedi, to forbid us attachment, to subject us to betrayal, to sacrifice _everything_ for a higher duty. I _have_ sacrificed everything for a higher duty: my childhood, my friends, my _Padawans_, and now you, _you_, who have created this towering rage have the _audacity_ to _blame the Force_?"

Dooku ripped the blaster away from Goldar with the Force, and the smaller Elsa took her cue and broke away, darting forward and behind Dooku, her gold eyes meeting the Jedi Master's and for a moment Dooku saw Qui-Gon, and it only made him hurt even worse.

"I lost my Padawan," he growled, lifting Goldar up into the air with a gesture of his hand. The panicked reptilian's taloned feet were swinging in the air, impotent. "Saving my friend's daughter was the least I could do. And now there's only you.

"_I will make you suffer._"

"Granpa, wait!"

Dooku turned, furious at the interruption, to see Obi-Wan and Anakin in the room, Elsa behind in the hall being tightly embraced by her father. Anakin was positively white, a hand clutching his temple as he stared in wide-eyed shock at Dooku. "Granpa... it hurts..." he muttered. And from the closed off face of Obi-Wan he saw the startling picture of a Zabrak, _the_ Zabrak, and a soft "_not again..._"

Their shock, their _fear_, broke through Dooku's cloud of anger and hatred, and with it gone, so went the energy, and he lowered the panicked reptilian to the ground.

He was so _tired_, suddenly, and he let out a trembling breath. He swayed slightly, before falling to his knees, and his grandsons were by his side in an instant, both hugging him, their soft pulses in the Force brushing against him.

For time indeterminate, they held each other, until slowly, he became aware of another touch, soft talons, and he looked up to see the daughter, Elsa, kneeling beside the three and touching his shoulder. Her eyes were a darker gold than her fathers, but the shape of her ocular ridge was exactly the same. "Your anger is terrifying," she said softly, slowly. Dooku looked away, ashamed of what had happened to him.

"... But your love is overpowering. It is just like my father's."

And Dooku looked up to see her smiling, Mesagog standing behind her and doing the same.

And behind him, a pale wisp of an outline of a man he missed more than anyone. Smiling.

* * *

Local news reported the events as a terrorist attack on the Senatorial estate by extreme isolationists who wanted to secede from the Republic. Senator Goldar was inconsolable, and had stepped down from his position, citing health reasons. Everyone in Dooku's and Mesagog's inner circle knew it was a lie, but none - not even Councilor Bridge - knew what really happened at the estate, and Mesagog and Dooku both agreed that was for the best.

Galactic news, of course, didn't even mention it.

Mesagog's daughter stayed with Dooku at his estate for several days in hiding, where he and his grandsons helped teach her some rudimentary mediation and connection to the Force. She was a skilled empath; her intuition suggested she was deeply touched by the Unifying Force, making Obi-Wan her best tutor. Mesagog watched in mute fascination when he visited, and a week later he finally confessed.

"It would appear I cannot completely erase a lifetime of training to hate silent communication. I watch what you do. I am impressed. But I am also nervous, and I am ashamed that I feel that."

Dooku squirmed slightly, and admitted, "I have not helped in that regard. My behavior that day was abhorrent and utterly unbecoming of a Jedi." At least, it was abhorrent to what the Jedi stood for; Dooku was less and less convinced today's Jedi met those standards.

"Please, carry no shame," Elsa said, her eyes closed in meditation with Obi-Wan. "Strong emotion is good for we who are touched. Righteous anger cannot be construed as wrong by your culture, surely."

"Anger springs from fear, and births hatred and suffering," Obi-Wan said, eyes also closed, "but denying anger is counterproductive. We are trained to let go of it."

"Let go of emotions? The very things that grants us strength?" Elsa's honey-gold eyes opened. "How very strange."

"Not all emotions," Anakin said. "Just the bad ones, the ones that make the Sith." He looked up to Dooku for an extended moment before adding, "And seeing what Granpa did out of anger, I can kinda understand why."

Mesagog smiled, softly. "Looking at it that way, it means your tantrum makes you fallible. I can work with that." His three-talon hand touched Dooku's shoulder, nodding in affirmation. "I regret the deception you came under, but only a true friend would help me find my daughter. I thank you. If you wish, tell me the nature of your espionage here and I will do all I can to help you."

Dooku was touched, and could not remember when he had a friend this close that didn't betray him. He was instinctively weary, but he pushed his way through the hesitation and smiled sincerely. "I am here for the HCC," he said. "I am to make contact with them and learn what their intentions are. Nothing more, nothing less. Transparency, or the lack thereof in their case, is worrying. We all seem to agree that they are unhappy with the Republic, as you and I both are, but no one knows how or if they plan to do anything about it."

"And if you learn they _do_ plan something against the Republic?"

Dooku shrugged. "I assume negotiations will be opened. That is a Jedi's strength. I am under cover simply because if my connection to the Jedi and by extension the Republic is discovered, they may falsify their goals and intentions."

Mesagog gauged Dooku for a long moment before nodding. "Rita should be our target. "She recruited me to the HCC advocate council, and I believe she is part of their ruling board of directors; she's a human that lives on the lunar colony of Terak Nor."

The next link up the chain. His work had miraculously _not_ been undone. "Excellent. I cannot thank you enough," he said, shaking Mesagog's hand vigorously. "I am deeply indebted to you. Here," he added, dropping the datachips he had made. "Some beginner lessons in how to touch and use the Force, as well as one intermediate lesson. I dare not give more. It would be best if her gifts were controlled, not grown."

"I heartily agree."

"I know it is difficult, but the Temple on Coruscant will always be open to you if you need help. Give them my name."

"I will."

Two days later, they discretely left Zeltrax. Dooku stared out the viewport, watching the planet shrink and thinking of the... of the friend he had left there. He had never made a friend when under cover. It... it made him smile, and he turned away and sat with his two grandsons.

* * *

"You know, for someone who scorned me for my penchant for trouble of a theatrical nature, you certainly beat me in terms of dramatic flair."

Dooku was in the grey room again, lighter than his last visit, returned to that perfect middle shade. Qui-Gon was leaning back in his chair, one leg hooked up and leaning against the table, foot tapping to some irregular beat. The Jedi Master smiled warmly, feeling his heart relax, and said, "I've missed you."

"And at last," Qui-Gon said with some fanfare, "He admits to what he sees! A miracle, ladies and gentlemen."

Dooku scoffed. "I have yet to be convinced that this is 'real,' but I will admit to enjoying seeing you, hallucination, dream or otherwise."

Qui-Gon shrugged. "At this point, I'll take what I can get. But that was always the case with you, Master; and I must admit I loved wheedling anything I could out of you. It made for a great game."

"Is that what we're calling your apprenticeship now? A game?"

"Only the best."

"I refrain from comment."

"Ha! You would."

A comfortable silence settled over them, Dooku looking at his former Padawan, soaking up every detail, eyeing every patch and scratch in his robes, the laugh lines at the corner of his eyes, the scraggly excuse of a beard he had. He couldn't be happier.

"Do you feel better now?"

Dooku blinked. "What?"

"After your tantrum. Do you feel better now? Less pressed, more in control, less overwhelmed?"

"... Yes."

Qui-Gon smiled, hooking his foot off the table and leaning forward. "I _told_ you that you weren't releasing your emotions. Imagine my surprise when you finally got around to it and decided to throw a _tantrum_ instead of meditating on it. I did mention you have a flare for the dramatic, didn't I?"

To his everlasting embarrassment, Dooku flushed.

"Did you know that _that's_ why the room is lighter?"

Dooku blinked again, looking around to that perfect middle shade of grey that encompassed them. "Then... this is..."

"A reflection of your mind? Yes."

"So... I am...?"

"Not as bad off as you were earlier," Qui-Gon said, gently. He reached forward and knocked slightly on the table, making Dooku's eyes snap to him. Splaying his elbows onto the table Qui-Gon rested his head on his hands, looking up at his master with whimsy. "The Force isn't black and white, you know. Oh, there is a Light and Dark side, of course, but those are, as you can imagine, opposite ends of the spectrum. The funny thing about light and dark, white and black, and especially people, is that there are an infinite number of shades in between. Not even Yoda is completely light, but you can imagine that his shade of grey is a fair bit paler than this."

"What... what does this mean?"

Qui-Gon smirked and sat up again, drumming his fingers on the table. "It means even the Darkest Sith you can imagine isn't completely Dark, and that means that any and all Sith can be brought to a far lighter side of the Force. That little fact you should already know, given the tantrum you pulled earlier."

"Then... I was truly...?"

"Dark? Sith? That, too, is a matter of point of view." Qui-Gon shrugged. "I'm biased, I admit, but I wouldn't quite have called you a Sith. For all your fanciful uses of the Force, you were a man who wanted to get to know his grandchildren. What you didn't realize is that you have much more time than you thought, because there is always _after the mission_ to get to know them." Then he smirked. "Just don't wait too long. They may have their entire lives in front of them, but _you_ are decidedly running short on decades, 'old man.' "

Dooku reached out slowly, taking Qui-Gon's hand in his own. It felt warm. "I made so many mistakes with you... and I never told you how I really felt... never contacted you."

Qui-Gon smiled, softly, serenely, and cupped Dooku's hand in his own. "But you can tell me now, Master. You can tell me now."

"Qui-Gon, you were as a son to me. I loved you..."

"And you were an annoyingly superior big brother to me, and I loved you all the same."

Dooku woke on the transport to Coruscant with a smile on his lips.

**End**

**Author's Notes**: And voila, the finale. Hehehe, we liked the idea of Dooku in a tantrum. It also wraps up everything neatly. While Anakin, over the years and in the Clone Wars in particular, will see Sith and Dark Jedi, he doesn't see how one gets there. He sees them already on the Darkside. So this is an important moment for little Ani in seeing how unreleased feelings can backfire horribly. And, when Dooku's done with undercover, he can talk about how things festered till it exploded so horribly. This, with Anakin now working on releasing some of the trauma of how he grew up, he can have a Lighter future. Of course, Sidious still has hooks in him, but Dooku is now weary of the Chancellor, so he no longer is certain to become an apprentice. And, of course, Obi-Wan has gotten some much needed mentoring and reassurance that he's doing just fine. It's been a fun little fic. It still feels like it lacks the bright spark of Simple Steps and even the spark of All But Name, but it is a solid fic. It was definitely fun to explore Dooku's character more thoroughly and we hope we've opened him up for others to really study and look at him.


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